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LEISURE HOURS, 


W. S. BROWNING, 


AUTHOR OF “ A HISTORY OF TI1E HUGUENOTS,” etc. 



LONDON: 

WHITTAKER AND CO., AVE MARIA LANE; 

PARIS: 

A. ANI) W. GAL1GNANI, RUE VIVIENNE. 


1841. 





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PARIS: 

Printed by M“e Ye Dondev-Dcpre, 
No. 40, rue Saint-Louis, au Marais. 




TO THE COUNTESS CADOGAN. 


Madam, 

In permitting this Miscellany to appear before the 
world under your Ladyship’s distinguished auspices, 
you have encouraged me to hope for a more favourable 
reception with the public than I could otherwise anti¬ 
cipate; and I fully appreciate the favour you have con¬ 
ferred in accepting this dedication. Under the aegis of 
your elevated rank and graceful accomplishments, these 
pages will be ensured the chance of a fair trial; and, 
in acknowledging my deep sense of that obligation, I 
humbly express a hope that the work may not prove 
unworthy of your patronage. 

To your Ladyship, therefore, I dedicate this little 
volume ; and have the honour to subscribe myself, 

With profound respect, 

Your obliged and obedient servant, 

W. S. Browning. 


Paris, March, 18it. 



This volume is literally wliat the title pro¬ 
fesses—the result of leisure hours; and it may 
he asserted, with confidence, that its contents 
embrace something for almost every taste. 

Several of ihe articles in each category have 
appeared in the London or Paris periodicals ; 
but, on the wide ocean-like surface of the mo¬ 
dern press, that condition is but a few degrees 
removed from non-existence, for all purposes 
of reference. 

The author may perchance be accused of 
presumption, in calling public attention to an 
insignificant Miscellany, which will certainly 
cause him some regret; on the other hand, 
should his production be approved, he makes 
free to announce that he has materials for an¬ 
other volume, as he can adopt the language 
which lord Byron has sarcastically placed in 
the Laureat’s mouth — 

He’d written much blank verse, and blanker prose, 

And more of both than any body knows. 

The Tales now submitted to the reader are 
short and varied; several among them being 
founded on fact, arc, in reality, historical 

episodes. 



VI 


PREFACE. 

The Antiquarian Essays present a diversity 
of subjects, as they embrace inquiries respect¬ 
ing remote ages, and descriptions of Parisian 
edifices. 

The Criticisms may expose the author to 
animadversion; in that case he will submit to 
the censor’s lash without complaint: having 
assumed the right to judge, it would be absurd 
on his part to decline the tribunal. Yet he 
strenuously contends for the necessity of severe 
criticism, as the only means of preserving 
English literature from decay. Literary cen¬ 
sure has been so long and so much neglected, 
that it may be said that there does not, at this 
time, exist any protection for the reading pub¬ 
lic against the negligence or extravagance of 
authors. 


errata. 

Page 36, line 12, for officials read official. 
— 114, — 11, for affair — robbery. 

-— 122, — ■ 9, for and — T . 


% 



CONTENTS. 


§ I. Episodes and Tales. 

The Sack of Negrepelisse . 

The Banbury Impostor . 

The Aide-de-Camp. 

A Flemish Legend. 

Cromwell’s Diplomacy. 

A Tragical Episode. 

The Street Sweeper. 

An Alibi . 

An Exchange . 

Rural Felicity, a Sketch. 

A New Way to pay Old Debts. 

The Legacy ... 

§ II. Antiquarian Essaijs. 

On the Celts and Gauls . 

The Columns of Seth . 

Nanterre and Ruel. 

Meudon and Clamart. 

St. Eustache.. 

St. Germain- l’Auxerrois. 

St. Roch. 

St. Etienne-du-Mont. 


PAGES* 

1 

12 

23 

37 

84 

98 

104 

in 

118 

123 

128 

133 


137 

134 

101 

168 

177 

181 

189 

196 


§ III. Criticisms. 


Moore’s “ Travels of an Irish Gentleman’’ . 203 

Hints for Novel Writers. 214 

Review of “ Gerfaut,” a Novel. 233 

-“ Louise,”.. 244 

On “ The Earl of Essex”. 249 

“ Othello,” translated by A. de Vigny. 271 

» Gustavus Adolphus . 279 

Crusade against the Albigenses. 280 


Stanzas 


303 

































BY THE SAME AUTHOR: 


THE HISTORY OF THE HUGUENOTS, 


A new edition, in one vol. royal 8vo. price 6s.; published by 
Whittaker and Co., Ave Maria Lane. 

This volume comprises : — 

The History of the Huguenots during the sixteenth 
Century, printed in 1829; and 

The Continuation to 1838, in one vol. (forming vol. Ill), 
but which is nevertheless complete in itself. As but few copies 
remain, an early application is recommended to persons pos¬ 
sessing vols. I and II, who may wish to complete their sets. 


THE PROVOST OF PARIS: 

A Tale of the Court of Charles VI: 3 vols. 12rno. 


READY FOR THE PRESS, 


HOEL MORVAN 




Or, the Court and Camp of Henry V: an Historical Novel, 

in 3 vols. 


% 







THE SACK OF NEGREPELISSE, 

An Episode of Huguenot History. 


The little town of iNegrepelisse, situated on 
the river Aveyron, is remarkable for its short, 
though desperate defence against Louis XIII, in 
1622 ; and no less for the dreadful excesses com¬ 
mitted by the royal troops, when the place was 
taken by storm. 

We are indebted to marshal Bassompierre for 
many curious particulars respecting this siege. 
Essentially a soldier in his disposition, views, and 
character, he appears to have had a strong de¬ 
sire to describe, with care, the scenes of his 
eventful life. Ilis journal relates many incidents 
of his youth, which mature years would probably 
have induced him to erase, had he calmly re¬ 
vised his papers; but the frank testimony of such 
a contemporary becomes, on that account, the 
more valuable for aiding the study of those days; 



2 


Tales. 


and his Memoirs embrace such a wide range of 
circumstances, that none will attempt seriously 
to investigate the reigns of Henry IV or Louis 
XIII, without consulting his pages. 

The Memoirs of De Pontis refer to nearly the 
same period as Bassompierre’s Journal; but they 
are far from having an equal historical weight. 
The Memoirs, being published by the fathers of 
Port Royal, as the reminiscences of one of their 
brethren, were received by the public with great 
favour; which did not however dissipate consi¬ 
derable doubts as to the declared author’s exist¬ 
ence. Written in a serious style, and published 
under the auspices of a justly esteemed commu¬ 
nity, they were read, admired, and approved, 
notwithstanding a prevailing impression of their 
apocryphal character. 

Marshal Bassompierre and the sieur de Pontis 
were both engaged at Negrepelisse; and each has 
given an account of the attack. Their narratives 
differ, as might be expected—the marshal having 
noted his observations at the time, and under 
military excitement; while the latter composed 
his statement in the tranquillity of a cloister. 

Although Bassompierre mentions that he ap¬ 
proached the town under an impression that it 



Sack of Negrepelisse. 3 

was “ obedient to the king,” his account of the 
extraordinary resistance rather corroborates the 
statement of De Pontis, that the inhabitants had 
compromised themselves beyond all hope of cle¬ 
mency, by falling upon a regiment placed there 
in garrison during the previous year. “ There 
was not in Negrepelisse,” says the marshal, “any 
thing better than muskets ; no more ammunition 
than the inhabitants might have for killing game 
—no soldiers from other places — nor any leader 
to command them. The place itself would be 
moderately strong against a provincial force, but 
was by no means able to resist a royal army. 
Still the inhabitants would neither surrender nor 
capitulate.” Such instances are by no means 
rare in the annals of the Huguenots, in periods 
when their cause was declining : they willingly 
sacrificed their lives for their religion, and that 
readiness for martyrdom was sometimes re- 

«r 

warded with success. 

Notwithstanding such limited means of de¬ 
fence, two days were occupied in the attack before 
the assault was ordered; and among other inci¬ 
dents of this siege, one is recorded which shows 
how* very far the military tactics of that period 
were from the perfection acquired within the 


4 


Tales. 


following forty or fifty years:—Seven cannons 
were placed as a battery; but tbeir first dis¬ 
charge completely destroyed their own breast¬ 
work, and exposed the gunners to a sharp fire 
from the town, which, within an hour, killed 
about a dozen officers and a considerable number 
of men. Ce petit eschec , observes the marshal, 
nous fit meltre de lean a nostre vin . The attack was 
postponed till the following day in consecjuence. 

But nothing could save the town; and in the 
assault, the troops tied white handkerchiefs 
round their hats, to distinguish each other. All 
the male inhabitants were killed, with the excep¬ 
tion of a few who retreated to the citadel; which 
being taken the following day, fifteen of them 
were instantly hanged. Their companions, who 
fell in the town, defended themselves so reso¬ 
lutely, that they killed more soldiers than their 
own numbers. 

Plunder, violence and conflagration then visited 
every part of the devoted place. Some victims 
were rescued by the laudable generosity of Roger, 
the king’s chief valet-de-chambre—he redeemed, 
with his own money, about forty women and girls 
from the hands of the soldiers, who, infuriated 
as they were, preferred the acquisition of a few 


0 


Sack of Ncgrcpelisse. 

pistoles to the gratification of brutal violence.— 
Some who relinquished their prey immediately 
sallied forth in quest of other objects; but their 
readiness to choose the money, when offered, 
proves that military licence is not an inevitable 
concomitant of an assault, as some have advanced 
in palliation of similar enormities. Roger con¬ 
ducted his terrified protegees to the king’s head¬ 
quarters, where they remained in safety until 
the departure of the army. 

De Pontis was also enabled to preserve the 
happiness of a family, by protecting a young girl ; 
and the circumstances which attended this meri¬ 
torious deed cannot be better related than in his 
own words (Mem., lib. iv, § 12): 

u After the carnage, the soldiers proceeded 
to plunder, and seize all the women they could 
find; and as I was at the head of our regiment, 
I beheld a very beautiful girl, about seventeen 
or eighteen years of age, rush from a house 
which had not yet been entered; instantly she 
threw herself at my feet, imploring me to save 
her honour and her life. I at once gave her my 
word, and assured her I would rather lose my 
own life than suffer her to he injured. I wished 
to have her guarded near me, by three or four- 


Tales. 


6 

soldiers; but she fancied she would not be safe, 
unless she held me by my coat. So I proceeded 
with her through the town, when she was per¬ 
ceived by several of our officers, some of whom 
were so presumptuous as to dare to ask her of 
me, and pressed me to deliver her to them—I 
was obliged to quarrel with them about it; pre¬ 
ferring to have them as my enemies, than to for¬ 
feit my word, and fail in my duty to a virtuous 
girl, who had implored my protection. In this 
manner I conducted her to my tent. 

u Her relations were among the most respect¬ 
able persons of the town, wdiere her father was 
minister; and it happened, most fortunately for 
them, that they were then in the country, having 
left their daughter to take care of the house. 
Finding myself importuned anew by the solicita¬ 
tions of several persons, some of whom were even 
among the heads of the army, I reflected on all 
the possible means of concealing her; awaiting 
the time, when I could surrender her to the 
care of her father and mother, in order to deli¬ 
ver her, as well as myself, from the fear of that 
incessant danger to which she was exposed. 

u But as that could not be easily effected in a 
camp, in which there were only tents, and where 


7 


Sack of Negrepelisse . 

I knew so little fidelity existed, I at length hit 
upon a scheme, as extraordinary as can be ima¬ 
gined, and which may even appear incredible to 
many. As the best places for concealment are 
sometimes not the most remote, but those which 
are least thought of because they are visible, I 
considered that the carcass of a large heifer,which 
I had had killed the day previous, and which was 
still hanging whole in my tent, would serve my 
purpose. Having turned the carcass against the 
wall, I placed my captive inside, to see whether 
it concealed her. The plan succeeded very well; 
for the fear of such a pressing danger aiding her 
efforts to accommodate her size to that little re¬ 
treat (the only one where she could be safe), 
she drew herself up so well, that no part of her 
was visible. I then told her, that whenever she 
heard a knock, she should hide herself, thus 
avoiding the inconvenience of remaining always 
there. And it chanced that almost immediately 
after I had essayed my invention, some general- 
officers, under pretence of visiting the camp, 
came and knocked at my door. They told me, 
on entering, the real motive of their visit; and 
pressed me to show them the fair one who had 
fallen into my hands : but I answered with such 


8 


Tales. 


frankness (having allowed them freely to inspect 
the tent, where they beheld nothing except the 
heifer), that they went away fully persuaded she 
was no longer with me. It would be useless to 
mention others who were as easily persuaded; 
and who, after entering, departed on perceiving 
nothing but the suspended carcass of the heifer. 

“ But the affair went farther ; and having 
reached the king’s ears, he summoned me to his 
presence. Being thoroughly persuaded of the 
good will and trust-worthiness of my own ser¬ 
vants, I confided my prisoner to their care, en¬ 
joining them to remain constantly outside the 
door, to say that I was absent, and allow no one 
to enter, be he whom he might. As soon as the 
king saw me, he inquired if it were true, as had 
been reported to him, that I had a very beautiful 
girl in my tent. As I never concealed any thing 
from that prince, I related the whole affair, as it 
had passed, up to the moment I quitted my tent. 
The king, looking very earnestly at me, then 
said: ‘ Hast thou really kept thy word? ’ I swore 
solemnly that I had; upon which the king re¬ 
plied, t I am delighted at that; and esteem thee 
a hundred-fold more on that account: finish what 
thou hast so well begun ; for it is one of the 




0 


Sack of Negrepelisse. 

noblest actions thou wilt perform in all thy life ; 
and which I shall consider one of the greatest 
services thou hast rendered me. If, by chance, 
any one should discover and demand her, tell 
him thou hast my orders to keep her; and that 
it is I who have confided her to thy care.’ 

u I entreated his majesty would permit me to 
send a drummer to her father’s country house, 
distant four or five leagues from the camp, that 
I might place her in his hands as soon as possible. 
This request, which proved the sincerity of my 
conduct, was gratifying to the king, who said 
he heartily consented, and that I could not do 
better. 

“ I took leave of his majesty, and having has¬ 
tened hack to my tent, where I found every thing 
in order, I told the girl to write a letter to her 
father, inviting him to meet her at a place which 
1 indicated; and to assure him that the drummer 
who delivered the letter w r ould conduct him 
safely thither. She w T rote a note, conveying in 
a few words what I had told her, deferring until 
their meeting all particulars of her present con¬ 
dition, and of the danger from wdiich she had 
been rescued. The father and mother received 
the news with joyful feelings,easier imagined than 


10 


Tales. 


expressed, and were speedily at the place agreed 
upon; whither I proceeded punctually with their 
daughter. Delivering her into their hands, I 
protested that I had taken care of her, as if she 
had been my own daughter; and assured them 
that I experienced very great happiness at being 
favoured with an occasion of delivering a young 
girl from such danger. They wished to acknow¬ 
ledge the service, and offered me all their pro¬ 
perty in recompense of the precious present I 
made them, by restoring their daughter, whom 
they considered as lost. I was satisfied with 

w 

obtaining their friendship; and declared myself 
too well rewarded by having protected their 
daughter. 

a 

u However I had not again reached my tent, 
when I discovered two horses following me, laden 
with game and provisions. The man who con¬ 
ducted them said that his master entreated me to 
accept that trifle, which he hardly dared to*offer. 
I could not refuse the present, for fear of grieving 
the sender, and told the servant to assure his 
master that I accepted it, and with thanks, not 
to disoblige him. 

“They have ever since borne me in mind; and 
live or six months afterwards, passing through 


II 


Sack of Negrepclisse . 

the town where the family resided, and calling 
on them, the poor girl was in such a transport of 
joy on seeing me again, that she embraced my 
knees, and would not leave me, feeling the obli¬ 
gation, at that time, more fully than at first; and 
declaring to her father and mother that she 
looked on me as another parent, since I had pre¬ 
served her life and honour.” 


( 12 ) 


THE BANBURY IMPOSTOR. 


A diligent research for information respect¬ 
ing the condition of the exiled Huguenots, led 
the writer to examine various works, published 
in England and Holland by refugees, most of 
which are now forgotten or unknown; and 
among others, he had the good fortune to meet 
with one, the existence of which is probably 
not suspected by many who rank as extensive 
readers. It is entitled Memoires et Observations 
faites par an voyageur en Anglelerre —was pub¬ 
lished at the Hague in 1698—and contains the 
opinions and notes of a most intelligent refu¬ 
gee ; who has however given only the initials of 
his name — II. M. deV. 

A perusal of this pleasing volume carries with 
it ample evidence of its being really what it pro¬ 
fesses to be—the observations of a traveller. 


Without any effort of imagination to 


colour his 





The Banbury Impostor. 13 

statements, the author appears desirous of nar¬ 
rating, in plain terms, the most complete infor¬ 
mation he could obtain, on the various subjects 
which engaged his attention. The work abounds 
with anecdotes and facts, which prove its author 
a very attentive inquirer; and the candour ex¬ 
pressed on every occasion admitting doubt, be¬ 
speaks the presence of that modesty which always 
accompanies talent. 

Before we notice the imposture above alluded 
to, a specimen of the refugee’s style of narrative 
may be appropriately introduced, as it serves to 
establish that he was a gentleman, from his means 
of access to the royal presence. His papers 
were classed alphabetically, and under the head 
of Faits meniorables , his remarks (being placed 
according to date) present a curious journal of 
the court from 18th September 1688, to Tues¬ 
day 24th September 1697. 

It is well known that the expedition of the 
prince of Orange was delayed some time by con¬ 
trary winds; and as the projected enterprise was 
generally known, all classes became intense ob¬ 
servers of the weather. The east wind was po¬ 
pularly termed Protestant , and the westerly gales 
were denominated Papist: and this was not con- 


14 


Tales. 


fined to London, for Pelisson mentions, in a 
letter dated 24th October 1688, that the Dutch 
States-General had issued a prohibition u against 
saying the unfavourable wind was papist.” 

So deep was the interest at court, that James II 
had a weathercock placed within view of his 
apartment, to indicate the direction of the wind; 
and when an unfounded report arrived, of a dis¬ 
aster having befallen the Dutch fleet in a severe 
gale, Whitehall resounded with congratulations. 

u I was present,” relates the author, “ when 
king James received the news. During the din¬ 
ner he used only one of his hands, the other 
holding constantly the welcome letter from 
Nieuport. Among other things he said, laugh¬ 
ing, to M. Barillon, the French ambassador, 
i So the wind has declared itself Papist!’ 
And he added, more seriously, lowering his 
tone, ‘ You know, that for the last three 
days, I have had the Holy Sacrament exposed.’ 
Soon after the wind veered to the north-east, 
and hastened the accomplishment of our glorious 
revolution.” 

We now proceed to relate what concerns the 
Banbury Impostor—an adventure introduced by 
the author in his remarks upon English fune- 


The Banbury Impostor. 1 5 

rals; and which is doubtless mentioned in other 
records of the period. 

In December 1691, a baker who lived in the 
Strand, near the church of St. Clement Danes, 
received into his house a lodger, a man of good 
address and prepossessing manners; who, it was 
subsequently ascertained, had been employed 
for several years as valet, by Mr. Wickham, a 
gentleman of fortune residing near Banbury. 
With a readiness acquired from his former ha¬ 
bits of life, the stranger easily engaged the 
worthy citizen in a conversation upon the period 
of his arrival in London, and the place of his 
birth. 

* i From Banbury in Oxfordshire,” replied the 
baker to his inquiry. 

“ How very gratifying to me,” said the stran¬ 
ger, shaking him cordially by the hand, u that I 
should meet with a native of Banbury!—Of 
course you know Mr. Wickham ?” 

u I certainly remember the worthy squire— 
but it is so long since I left my native place—it 
is at least twenty years—and the worthy squire 
was petting old.” 

<J o 

“My father you mean, I dare say ?” 

“ And are you, sir, the good old squire’s son?” 


Talcs. 


1G 

“ Y-e-s,” replied the stranger, affecting regret 
for having allowed the expression to escape him. 

As Mr. Wickham was head of one of the 
oldest and most wealthy families in that part of 
the country, the baker could not comprehend how 
he should appear in London, without servants or 
baggage : still he saw no reason for doubting 
his lodger’s identity; especially as he entered 
fluently into an account of the various families 
in the surrounding district—mentioning indivi¬ 
duals, whose names were still fresh in the 
baker s recollection; and describing places with 
an exactness, which could only be acquired by 
lengthened residence there. The family were 
called up and introduced to their respected 
guest; who condescendingly assented to join 
their table, and chatted freely with them, on 
the interesting subjects connected with the host’s 
boyish reminiscences. 

In the course of conversation, the stranger 
took an opportunity to explain the reasons of his 
visiting the capital so privately. —His servants, 
he stated, were in a remote part of the town, 
ready to attend to his summons; but for the pre¬ 
sent he preferred that his name should not be 
mentioned, because the object of his journey 


17 


The Banbury Impostor. 

was to procure the arrest of an individual who 
owed him a large sum, and who he understood 
was about to leave the kingdom. 

The following day a servant called on the pre¬ 
tended Mr. Wickham, and was severely repri¬ 
manded for placing him in a condition, which he 
felt was almost equal to destitution, being with¬ 
out money, and not having a single change of 
linen. An effort at excuse was interrupted— 
u It is entirely through your neglect; for had 
you taken my trunks in time, they would have 
arrived before me; but now I must wait three 
days, at least, in this unpleasant situation.” 

This conversation was overheard by the un¬ 
suspecting baker, who instantly fetched some of 
his best linen, which he requested Mr. Wick¬ 
ham would do him the honour to use; and at the 
same time he placed on the table a purse con¬ 
taining fifty guineas, for the gentleman’s imme¬ 
diate use; expressing his great satisfaction at 
being able to obviate the momentary inconve¬ 
nience. Mr. Wickham thanked him for the 
linen, but declined the money; however as the 
baker pressed him to take it, be at last consented. 

With that supply of funds a confederate was 
speedily furnished with the Wickham livery; 


18 Tales . 

and he soon after arrived with some trunks, 
which had been brought, as he said, by the Ban¬ 
bury waggon. From that time nothing could 
persuade the baker that his lodger was not really 
Mr. Wickham; he embraced every opportunity to 
manifest his respect; and unfeignedly rejoiced that 
his roof should shelter such a worthy gentleman. 

Wickham remained there three weeks; during 
which time he found pretexts to induce the baker 
to advance him a further sum of one hundred and 
fifty guineas; and at the end of that period he was 
suddenly seized with a violent illness. He was 
attended by his confederate in livery, but received 
the most assiduous attentions from his host; who 
spared no expense on his account,—and gua¬ 
ranteed the physicians, apothecaries, and others, 
whose aid was required. Two of the most emi¬ 
nent physicians of the day, Drs. Lowther and 
Smith, were called in — but his illness increased; 
and on the fifth day from the attack, he was given 
over. 

The baker, sensibly affected by Wickham’s 
alarming situation, deemed it his duty to inform 
him of his danger: the intimation of which was 
received with a degree of calm resignation which 
astonished the family. 


The Banbury Impostor. 10 

What precedes is no more than is frequently 

< 

found in the annals of roguery; but the subse¬ 
quent conduct of this impostor is unparalleled. In 
the face of death he not only maintained his pre¬ 
sence of mind, hut audaciously continued his 

* « 

deception, with a degree of effrontery almost sur¬ 
passing belief. His pious submission to his fate 
had excited the admiration of the baker. He de¬ 
sired that a clergyman should be sent for to ad¬ 
minister the sacrament; and expressed such a 
feeling of strengthening consolation in the Chris¬ 
tian faith, that in addition to the respect acquired 
by his assumed character, he was revered by the 
family as a prodigy of piety—the best of Chris¬ 
tians, and the man best prepared for death, 
they had ever beheld. 

On the following day the impostor informed 
his host, that it was not sufficient to have at¬ 
tended to his soul s interest—he had a duty to 
perform to his family; and expressed a desire 
to make his will, while his faculties were still 
sound. An attorney was accordingly sum¬ 
moned—his will was made in due form—and 
with unexampled hardihood, he signed the name 
of Wickham, in the presence of three wit¬ 


nesses. 


20 


Tales. 


Such a disposal of property could ouly have 
appeared to him in the light of a jest upon the 
worthy baker’s credulity; hut suffering as he did, 
with an illness declared to he mortal, the sup¬ 
position is hardly admissible. The chance of 
recovery might hold out a hope of gaining by 
the confidence his generous intentions would 
inspire, and thus explain his imperturbable dis¬ 
simulation. But his last moment was drawing 
near; and his feelings must have convinced him 
that the physicians’ solemn warning was not un¬ 
founded. The near approach of death is pro¬ 
verbially advanced as a test of truth; but this 
hardened intriguer proceeded with an unchanged 
purpose until his final gasp. Having bequeathed 
his carriages, horses of various kinds, hounds, 
pictures, plate, etc., to different nephews and 
cousins, he proceeded to make a provision for 
his kind host, to whom he devised a house with 
furniture and garden, and all his linen. Five 
hundred guineas were bequeathed to the baker’s 
son ; eight hundred to be divided between his 
four daughters; two hundred to the minister 
who had visited him, and similar bequests to the 
physicians, etc.; with fifty guineas and mourn¬ 
ing to each of his servants. He assigned a large 


9 | 
^ * 


The Banbury Impostor. 

sum for the expenses of his funeral, and speci¬ 
fied friends who were to have certain articles of 
jewelry. When the testamentary arrangements 
were terminated, he called the baker to his bed¬ 
side—prayed for a blessing on him and his fa¬ 
mily ; and desired him to go, immediately after 
his decease, to a solicitor named in the will, 
who would render him all requisite assistance, 
being well acquainted with his family. Within 
a quarter of an hour afterwards, the impostor 
was seized with convulsions and expired. 

A sense of gratitude for the testator’s genero¬ 
sity induced the worthy baker to treat the 
remains of his supposed benefactor with the 
greatest possible respect : he accordingly had the 
chamber, staircase, and entry hung with black; 
ordered mourning; gave instructions for pre¬ 
paring a sumptuous coffin, and had the body 
embalmed; in short, he neglected nothing that 
could testify his gratitude towards such a gene¬ 
rous man. From a feeling of delicacy, rather 
than apply to the executors, he borrowed money 
to defray the expenses. 

The preparations for the funeral were speedily 
completed; and a coffin, covered with rich vel¬ 
vet, and adorned with silver nails and plates, to 
the value of fifty guineas, received the impostor’s 


22 


Tales. 


remains. It was then necessary (o communicale 
with the solicitor,who would invite the friends of 
the family to attend. That gentleman was really 
Mr. Wickham’s professional adviser; and as he 
had received a letter from Banbury the preced¬ 
ing day, he was astounded at the baker’s com¬ 
munication. A short conversation sufficed to 
convince the latter how grossly he had been im¬ 
posed upon. He hastened home; threw off his 
mourning apparel, and resumed his ordinary 
habits: the body was taken out of the splendid 
coffin, which was sold for about a third of its 
cost; and many of the tradesmen, out of com¬ 
passion, took hack what they had supplied, to 
diminish the poor fellow’s loss. 

The impostor’s body was then thrown igno- 
miniously into a grave, dug in a corner of Saint 

K U U 

Clement’s church-yard; and the real Mr. Wick¬ 
ham, moved by the respect which the baker had 
testified for his name and character, subse¬ 
quently remunerated him for the deception of 
which he had been the victim. 

The author of the work above mentioned de¬ 
clares that he witnessed most of the circum¬ 
stances related ; and unless he be also an impos¬ 
tor, the registers of St. Clement Danes will pro¬ 
bably contain some allusion to this singular hoax. 


( 23 ) 


THE AIDE-DE-CAMP. 


“ Heaven from all creatures hides the book of fate, 
Except the page prescribed, our present state.”— Pope. 


“ He that is down can fall no lower,” and the 
man without any hopes or expectations, beyond 
the reasonable reward of his exertions, is spared 
the anxiety and impatience which await those 
who enjoy the envied distinction of “ good pros¬ 
pects.” Yet it sometimes occurs, that excel¬ 
lence of character, and its ordinary concomitant, 
good conduct, enable an isolated individual to 
advance so far in the social scale, that he be¬ 
comes exposed to very bitter disappointments, 
through the want of some extrinsic conventional 
advantage, to which opinion has affixed great 
value: and although he may sincerely desire to 
he contented and grateful, he is often compelled 
by circumstances to lament, and urged by his 
feelings, to complain of his destiny. 



24 


Tales. 


Frederick Muller was an orphan—even more, 
he was a foundling; being rescued during his in¬ 
fancy from destruction in the forest of Hartzwald, 
where a woodman, returning from the labours 
of the day, perceived him asleep at the foot of a 
tree. The pastor of Hartzburg (the nearest 
town) took charge of the helpless innocent, under 
the full persuasion that his parents would soon 
reclaim-their lost child; and when all hope of 
that discovery had vanished, he adopted and 
educated him as his own son. The worthy minis¬ 
ter had very soon the pleasure of discovering that 
the addition to his family was no burden; for the 
kind baroness of Hartzburg, on hearing of the 
circumstance, placed ample means at his dispo¬ 
sal for the little stranger’s wants. Subsequently, 
young Muller found in that lady a most gene¬ 
rous protector and friend: she had noticed his 
promising qualities, as he passed through in¬ 
fancy and childhood ; her discernment antici¬ 
pated much from the full development of his 
character; and under her auspices he was favour¬ 
ably received in a corps commanded by her bro¬ 
ther, the reigning duke of Elbersdorf. The re¬ 
commendations of the baroness, combined with 
several displays of exemplary courage, obtained 


The Aide-de-Camp . 25 

him rapid promotion, and within a short time he 
was advanced to be aide-de-camp to the duke. 

His speedy elevation was calculated to excite 
envy; but his elegant manners and modest de¬ 
portment veiled in a great measure the obscurity 
of his birth, and compensated for the want of a 
crowded pedigree, the grand desideratum in 
feudal Germany. His uncertain parentage was 
no secret; hut it seemed scarcelv possible that 
one so highly gifted could have sprung from 
other than a noble stock; and his good sense re¬ 
straining him from obtrusion, his ambiguous 
gentility was, by general consent, spared the 
ordeal of investigation. 

The duke of Eibersdorf had an only child — 
the lady Helen. His son had fallen gloriously 
in the field of battle ; death had deprived him of 
his duchess; and all his hopes and cares were 
centred in that beloved remnant of his family. 
Young, amiable, and adorned with every love- 
inspiring quality of mind and person, Helen 
could not be seen without exciting the deepest 
interest. To a youthful beholder her appearance 
was the signal for a flame which carried desola¬ 
tion to his heart; and Frederick Muller learned 
by experience, that the favours of fortune are 


26 


Tales. 


invariably accompanied with some drawback. 
He was often admitted into her presence, but 
dared not approach her person: he could ap¬ 
preciate her excellence, yet was conscious that 
her rank would for ever present a stern and im¬ 
perative prohibition against his cherishing for 
her a single thought beyond unqualified re¬ 
spect. 

He loved her—and, mindful of his duty, en¬ 
deavoured, but in vain, to suppress the torment¬ 
ing passion. He loved without a spark of hope, 
for he could not dare to make known, even to a 
friend, the sentiments which troubled his repose. 
Still he delighted in his facilities for beholding 
the object of his regard, and although he could 
not dream of gaining so much as her pity for 
his anxious and chimerical adoration, his days 
passed away in comparative bliss, until the ap¬ 
palling intimation reached him of the lady’s ap¬ 
proaching marriage. 

His conduct was not unobserved by the baron¬ 
ess de Hartzburff, who had been a constant resi- 
dent atElbersdorf since the death of the duchess. 
That lady was some years older than her bro¬ 
ther, and, a kind counsellor and confident, af¬ 
fectionately replaced Helen’s departed parent? 


The Aide-de-Camp. 27 

at least so far as a mother’s place could be sup¬ 
plied. 

The baroness took a deep interest in belles- 
lettres and philosophy, on which subjects the 
aide-de-camp could expatiate with fluency: and 
she was not deterred by prudish scruples from 
engaging him in conversation when circum¬ 
stances permitted her to enjoy his company. But 
at length his eloquence was paralyzed; he became 
abstracted, and replied upon the fine arts whilst 
conversing upon botany—mingled theology with 
military tactics—and in the midst of an argu¬ 
ment on Homer’s individuality, he would burst 
forth into a touching lament upon the caprice of 
fate and the cruel inflictions of destiny, lie had 
learned a circumstance of woful import—count 
Felsingen was definitively approved of by the 
duke as his daughter’s future husband, after a 
negotiation which had kept the beautiful Helen 
in a state of painful apprehension. 

Muller’s affection for the heiress of Elbersdorl 
was evident to the experienced baroness; and 
she further suspected the existence of a corres¬ 
ponding attachment on the part of her niece. Her 
notions of family dignity, without suppressing all 
friendship for her interesting and amiable pro- 


28 


Tales. 


tege, impelled her to enjoin his departure from 
the castle. The tenderness which accompanied 
her injunction, disarmed its violence. Muller 
was not unmindful of her claims upon his grati¬ 
tude; and before the baroness had unfolded 
her entire plan, and while she was preparing to 
deliver his sentence of exile, he spared her feel¬ 
ings by declaring that his continued stay at El- 
bersdorf was impossible—he had resolved on 
seeking active military service; and should take 
the earliest opportunity to announce to the duke 
his intended departure. 

It was not lon^ before count Felsin^en arrived 
at the castle. Muller was at the duke’s side, 
when he received the noble visitor in the lofty 
Gothic hall, adorned with portraits of the long 
line of its illustrious possessors. Against the 
walls was suspended armour of the middle ages, 
interspersed with antlers, boars’ tusks, and 
other trophies of the chase; and surmounted by 
banners, emblazoned with the arms of Elbers- 
dorf and its numerous alliances. The duke cast 
a look of conscious pride upon the ancient and, 
in his view, revered decorations, as he proceeded 
with count Fetsingen ; and Muller, who quit ted 
them at the door of his patron’s cabinet, ob- 


The Aide-dc-Camp. 29 

served an extraordinary emotion in the duke s 
voice and manner, as he invited his guest to en¬ 
ter. His favourite theme was Charlemagne’s 
visit to his ancestor in that identical hall. Now, 
alas! the line of Elbersdorf was extinct; and his 
possessions were about to pass into a family 
much his inferior; for countFelsingen, although 
selected as his son-in-law, was not the ob¬ 
ject of his choice. His character was violent; 
his reputation not free from taint; and unfavour¬ 
able rumours were in circulation concerning 
the death of his first wife. Why then did he 

c 

consent to deliver his lovely daughter into the 
power of such a husband? The emperor had 
declared in favour of the marriage; and the duke 
of Elbersdorf, rich and haughty as he was, had 
not sufficient resolution to resist the order, 
although his child’s happiness was interested. 

Count Felsingen was a middle-aged man, well 
formed and robust; and moreover enjoying high 
military fame. But whatever his features had 
been in his youth, they were at this period far 
from being prepossessing. A scowl of distrust 
was settled on his brow, and even his approach¬ 
ing nuptials failed to brighten his countenance. 
His aspect that day must have been unusually 


30 


Talcs . 


gloomy, for it attracted the duke’s notice; and 
his consequent inquiry, if it did not obtain an 
explanation, at least drew forth a clue towards 
the indication of its cause. 

“Your highness has candidly declared the 
lady Helen’s aversion to this union; and I be¬ 
lieve I can unfold her motive. Your aide-de- 
camp has gained her affection. That obscure 
person is my rival; and though his inferiority 
renders him unworthy of my resentment, it be¬ 
hoves you, duke of Elbersdorf, to take decisive 
measures.” 

“On that head, my dear count, your mind 
may be quite at ease. If he ever had such un¬ 
warrantable pretensions, he evidently desists ; 
for he has requested this very morning my per¬ 
mission to quit Elbersdorf, and he intends forth¬ 
with to join the imperial army. Be assured 
further, that my daughter cannot have so de¬ 
graded herself, as Co entertain the least regard 
for one so much beneath her. She will wed 
you, count Felsingen, because I command it; 
and as her husband, she will love you, because 
it will be her duty.” 

The count’s features brightened at this assur- 


31 


The Aide-de-Camp. 

ance, and it was arranged that the marriage 
contract should be signed the following day. 

Count Felsingen’s visit was of sufficient impor¬ 
tance to excite general attention at Elbersdorf. It 
was quickly known in every part of the vene¬ 
rable castle, and while its object was guessed by 
the attendants and servants, the terrified Helen 
was overwhelmed with the force of her appre¬ 
hensions. Her father had learned her senti¬ 
ments from their previous conversations; he 
knew her dislike to the count, and ceased to 
disturb her tranquillity by repeating his advice; 
he relied on her profound sense of duty for an 
acquiescence, however reluctant, whenever he 
announced his final decision. 

Helen, on the other hand, shuddered at the 
prospect of a dreadful alternative : she must con¬ 
sent to a detested union, or oppose her father's 
will, by a refusal which would injure her repu¬ 
tation ; for some secret attachment would assur¬ 
edly be assigned by the world as the ground of 
her resistance to parental authority. Out of 
consideration for her feelings, her privacy was 
not disturbed that day; and the baroness of 
Hartzburg was summoned to receive the duke’s 


intimation of his will. Thus left alone, Helen 
could without restraint indulge in the expression 
of her grief; she endeavoured to collect her 
ideas for meeting the emergency, and consulted 
the resources of her affrighted imagination for 
devising some means of escape. But what 
could she do? The only means at her disposal 
were branded with the stamp of disobedience, 
and her sense of filial obligation forbade their 

a 

adoption. 

Her bewildered thoughts derived a temporary 
relief from the occurrence of a violent storm, 
which arose almost immediately after her aunt’s 
departure. The azure expanse of the heavens 
was in a few moments veiled by thick clouds; 
and thunder, rain, and wind united in produc¬ 
ing a sublime display of the terrors of nature. 
The tremendous scene changed the current of 
the maiden’s meditations: her richly cultiva¬ 
ted intellect, like that of the untutored Indian, 
“ saw God in clouds and heard him in the 
wind;” and her personal misfortunes for the 
moment relinquished their hold upon her 
thoughts, directed to that power which, in awful 
majesty, u rides on the whirlwind and directs 
the storm.” A ilashol hope now dawned upon 


/ 


33 


The Aide-de-Camp. 

her: the hurricane appeared like a heavenly de¬ 
claration against her father’s stern command ; 
and (he buoyancy of fancy at once launched forth 
into a dream of the possibility that some un¬ 
expected circumstance might arise for her de¬ 
liverance 

After a short interval, the torrents of rain gave 
place to a gentle shower, the boisterous gale sub¬ 
sided, and the fresh remembrance of the devas¬ 
tating tempest imparted by contrast an increased 
degree of serenity to the tranquillity of the at¬ 
mosphere. Hill and dale, houses and fields, 
bore distinct traces of the violent blast. Helen 
surveyed the desolation from her window, and 
her rising sentiment of compassion for the suf¬ 
ferers was appeased by the consideration of her 
father’s generosity in compensating the loss of 
crops, and repairing the damage done to the 
peasants’ dwellings. A little time would remove 
all the effects of the injury; but the storm of 
her own tribulation could not so speedily sub¬ 
side, and she breathed a prayer for support un¬ 
der the fear of consequences more seriously fatal, 
because irremediable. 

Her aunt’s return caused a revival of painful 
emotions. The affection which the baroness of 


3 


34 


Tales . 


Hartzburg entertained for her niece, required 
no extraneous aid to call forth her tender sym¬ 
pathies. Helen’s melancholy appearance—her 
silence, interrupted only by an occasional sigh— 
and the pity-awakening tear which glistened in 
her eye, combined to claim delay in the commu¬ 
nication of her message; nor could she for a 
time sum up resolution to declare her errand, 
but engaged her niece in a desultory conver¬ 
sation. 

“ The storm was truly awful,” responded He¬ 
len to one of her aunt’s observations; ‘ ‘ but hap¬ 
pily its duration was short, and the smiling fields 
have invited back the terrified animals from the 
retreats where they late sought shelter. Once 
more they ramble in the meadows and crop the 
refreshed herb. Notice yonder aged oak torn 
up from its roots by the wind, and its crest split 
by the electric bolt. See how it lies across the 
road, as if it were intended to bar my departure! 
May I hail it as a favourable omen ? A mark of 
violence and a specimen of ruin, it causes no 
unpleasant feeling to the lambs that feed around 
its prostrate branches, unconscious that a few 
hours since its shadow protected them from the 
noontide heat, or that its fall would have been 





The Aide-de-Camp. 35 

their destruction, if chance had not led them to 
another spot for protection. All is now tranquil 
in the far spread fields and dales, but in my 
breast.—Oh ! that the livid flame which struck 
that tree had been my messenger of death, to 
free my heart from an impending storm much 
fiercer than the wildest ravages of nature. But 
tell me, dearest aunt, what says my father? Had 
your influence raised the slightest ground of 
hope, you would at once have terminated my 
suspense.” 

“Your father, my beloved Helen, would not 
listen to my observations; but enjoined me to 
persuade you into a willing obedience.” 

“Oh death! preserve me from this conflict! 
Oh grave! receive me into repose!” Helen’s ex¬ 
clamation, uttered in a tone of wild despair, was 
followed by a swoon, which rendered attendance 
necessary; while the kind-hearted baroness, with 
agonized feelings, apprehended that the shock 
had proved too violent for Helen’s delicate frame. 
On the morrow, deep traces of poignant anguish 
proclaimed the duke’s knowledge of his daugh¬ 
ter’s serious illness. The accounts given by the 
baroness caused a great alarm in the whole 
household. Helen’s known character for firm- 


86 


Tales. 


ness and resolution gave her father misgivings of 

4 

conscience for his own headstrong decision. A 
kind word to his daughter would tend more 
to her recovery than all the efforts of medical 
skill. Of this he was reminded hy his sister, but 
he had gone too far to recede : he stood pledged 
to count Felsingen that the marriage contract 
should be signed without delay—for he had 
made that promise to the emperor. The idea of 
forfeiting his word expelled all affection from his 
breast; and he unfeelingly pronounced Helen’s 
objections to be the result of a childish caprice. 
The appointed hour, therefore, found the family 
assembled, with a numerous retinue of officials 
and officious persons: the collateral relations, 
notary, chaplain, and others, while the mem¬ 
bers of the household and principal tenantry 
were arrayed in the spacious Gothic hall. 

The duke’s entrance was followed hy a melan¬ 
choly silence. He found at last that his inten¬ 
tions were frustrated hy an influence beyond his 
power; and he pointed to the vacant seats re¬ 
served for Helen and her aunt, as he explained 
to count Felsingen that every thing in his power 
was completed. Several glances were exchanged, 
which bespoke astonishment in some, commise- 


The Aide-de-Camp. 37 

ration in others ; and the absence of the popular 
and favourite aide-de-camp was inadvertently 
remarked by one who resided at a distance, and 
was not yet informed of Frederick Muller’s depar¬ 
ture from the castle. The name was mentioned 
in a whisper, but the hateful sound reached the 
quick ear of count Felsingen, who instantly rose 
and begged the duke’s permission to converse 
with him in private. All withdrew, and the count 
proceeded : u The honour of your noble house 
demands the fullest and clearest explanation.” 

“ Of what?” exclaimed the duke. u Count Fel¬ 
singen, explain your meaning!” 

u To he plain—your highness cannot but per¬ 
ceive that your aide-de-camp’s dismissal is con¬ 
nected with your daughter’s refusal to appear.” 

The duke interrupted him by observing seri¬ 
ously, u When an only child is at the point of 
death, the moment would be ill chosen to express 
resentment at your ungenerous imputation. 
Frederick Muller is a man of honour; and were 
I less assured of his principles, I can place full 
confidence in my daughter’s convictions of pro¬ 
priety. Let this suffice for the present. I must 
leave you : my sister has summoned me to He¬ 
len’s chamber. Excuse me, count.” 


38 


Tales. 


“ This is a sad conclusion to a romantic and 
ill-sorted attachment,” muttered count Felsin- 
gen, when the duke had left him. After a few 
moments of reflection, he called his servant Carl, 
who followed him to a retired spot, where he 
gave the following order: u Lose no time in pro¬ 
curing me information about this aide-de-camp. 
Here, is money to induce the fellows to speak 
freely.” 

Carl understood the brief instructions, for he 
was in some measure aware of his master’s opi¬ 
nion concerning Muller, and, without losing an 
instant, proceeded on his commission. 

The duke meanwhile was met in the gallery 
by his sister, who with tears exclaimed, u Alas! 
she is gone! the blooming rose of Elbersdorf has 
withered. Her last breath was spent in blessing 
you; for she knew your obligations to the empe¬ 
ror, and sincerely forgave your obduracy. Can 
you contemplate the wreck of your house? If so, 
enter the chamber of her final suffering and of 
our woe; but as I wish to stay near her remains, 
lovely even in death, I entreat you, my dear bro¬ 
ther, to forbid all other visitors.” 

A bereavement is doubly painful when, to use 
the expression of an eminent writer and states- 


39 


The Aide-de-Camp. 

man, u those who should have heen posterity 
are in the place of ancestors,” and to lose the 
sole remnant—the last scion of an ancient family, 
inspires pity, even to the disinterested. The 
duke, with an agitated step, advanced to his 
daughter’s couch; speech failed him as he took 
in his hand that of his lifeless child; hut grief 
has its limits, and his heart was no sooner charged 
to the full, than he accepted relief from the weak¬ 
ness of nature, and gave vent to his agony in 
tears. 

On the table stood a phial nearly emptied ; 
and the physician, who, besides the afflicted pa¬ 
rent and his sister, was the only individual pre¬ 
sent, appeared much affected as he inspected its 
contents. The dreadful fact could not, however, 
be concealed. It required no direct statement, 
and its mortal quality was instantly guessed. 
u By poison too !” exclaimed the duke, smiting 
his forehead: a paroxysm followed, after which 
he uttered dreadful imprecations upon his own 
unfeeling heart. “ I am thy murderer, my 
dearest Helen ! Forgive, 0 Heaven ! my want 
of tenderness. I have driven my child to sui¬ 
cide, by turning a deaf ear to her entreaties; 
henceforth an avenging malediction will pur- 



40 


Tales . 


sue me, and, like the first murderer, I already 
feel my punishment is greater than I can bear.” 
With a scarcely audible ejaculation, he stag¬ 
gered across the room; his wild look was first 
directed to the table, and then fixed alternately 
on his sister and the physician. He sought 
the phial, but in vain; for as his frenzy became 
violent, the doctor was instinctively alive to the 
danger of leaving any means of suicide within his 
reach; and ere an angry exclamation at its remo¬ 
val could escape the unhappy duke, the fatal 
draught was mingled with the waters of the moat 
beneath the window. 

Elbersdorf was henceforth a scene too deeply 
embittered by its reminiscences, to be the resi¬ 
dence of its forlorn proprietor. Orders were 
given to hasten the arrangements for the fune¬ 
ral ; within a few days the castle chapel was ar¬ 
rayed in gloomy splendour, and the lady Helen’s 
obsequies were celebrated with suitable magnifi¬ 
cence. 

Frederick Muller did not fail to join the spec¬ 
tators of the melancholy riles; hut he carefully 
avoided observation, and mingled among the 
cottagers and humble dependents of Elbersdorf. 
The baroness of Harlzburg was, however, in- 




41 


The Aide-de-Camp. 

formed of his presence, and sent him a message 
to meet her in a retired part of the garden. She 
gently reprimanded his temerity in returning to 
the castle, as the count’s projects of vengeance 
were well known; and his calm contempt of dan¬ 
ger gave her a secret satisfaction, when she per¬ 
ceived that affectionate respect prompted him to 
take a final glance of all that remained of his 
heart’s idol. It confirmed her favourable opini¬ 
on ; his grief for departed excellence was disin¬ 
terested, it was unostentatious, and could not 
therefore expose him to a charge of vanity. He 
now confessed the passion, which during Helen’s 
life he vainly endeavoured to stifle, and resolute¬ 
ly refused to avow; and although an unconcerned 
beholder might enlarge upon her death as a less 
severe trial than her marriage to a rival would 
have been, he was far from deriving consola- 
tion from that jealous sentiment, and unaffected¬ 
ly expressed his sympathy for the duke’s bereave¬ 
ment. Before they separated, the baroness ad¬ 
dressed him to this effect:—“The count is your 
mortal enemy. He has obtained possession of 
some letters which you received from Hartzburg. 
I know his motive in seeking for that correspon¬ 
dence—he hoped to find some proof of my 


42 


Tales . 


niece’s suspected attachment to you. His dis¬ 
covery lias sincerely punished his ignoble curi¬ 
osity, for he has learned the circumstances of 
your introduction to Hartzburg, and has the cer¬ 
titude that you are eagerly striving to clear up the 
mystery which hangs over your birth. I there¬ 
fore request you will hasten to Hartzburg; you 
will be safe in my castle, and I will aid you in 
your interesting search. I have already made 
an important discovery, but shall defer its com¬ 
munication till your arrival.” 

No entreaties could change the lady’s resolu¬ 
tion, or induce her to give further explanation, 
and prudence commanding Muller’s retreat, they 
separated. It may not be, however, out of place 
to mention here, by what means the baroness 
was thus informed. She was aware that count 
Felsingen detested her, for having endeavoured 
to change the duke’s resolution. She had pleaded 
her niece’s cause with energy, and without spar¬ 
ing the count’s character. His dark intriguing 
disposition induced her, in self-defence, to be 
well acquainted with his movements ; and a con¬ 
fidential servant was employed to watch him 
closely. His instructions to Carl were over¬ 
heard—their import was serious; and the sub- 


43 


The Aide-de-Camp. 

sequent conversations between the emissary and 
his employer were of ominous meaning; for they 
proved that Muller s death was deemed essential 
to the count’s security. This discovery, although 
alarming, opened a wide field for interesting 
conjecture. There was evidently some clue to 
Muller’s parentage in the count’s possession, and 
his violent decision made all doubt at an end, 
as to its proving signally advantageous to the 
young man, provided he escaped the ambush pre¬ 
paring for his destruction. Gladly would she have 
conveyed him to Hartzburg in her own carriage; 
hut as the knowledge of his residing in her cas¬ 
tle would have injured her project in his favour, 
she renounced the idea, and relied on his pro¬ 
ceeding thither with all possible speed, to which 
his own interest would unquestionably impel him. 

The count was not less active in his measures. 
Carl, accompanied by a colleague worthy of such 
a commission, was despatched to a village some 
few leagues distant, where resided an old ser- 
vant of the house of Felsingen. This man, 
named Hermann, had for several years lived 
there in easy circumstances. He announced 
himself as having acquired a competency by mer¬ 
cantile pursuits in distant countries. Few were 


44 


Tales . 


admitted into his intimacy; but the slightest ac¬ 
quaintance sufficed to show fliat he was labour¬ 
ing under some grievous mental affliction. Ilis 
character was, however, unimpeachable; and 
there appeared no chance of any thing arising 
which would prevent his descending to his grave 
in peace. Great indeed was his astonishment 
when Carl declared the object of his visit, and 
he heard himself charged with deceiving count 
Felsingen. Surprise at first prevented his reply, 
but when the shock from such an intimation had 
subsided, he exclaimed, u Would to Heaven I 
had deceived him. Alas! it is impossible. When 
I gained my livelihood by honest labour, my re¬ 
pose was sweet, and my enjoyments, though 
humble, gave me real satisfaction. But since 
the day I yielded to his influence, and accepted 
his accursed gold, unceasing wretchedness has 
been my lot. Convince me that the lad still lives, 
and I shall be a happy man once more.” 

u But you engaged to kill him; and more than 
that, you assured the count of his death.” 

u I left him in a forest, far away from human 
track; if the wolves spared him, hunger must 
have killed the little innocent. Heaven be praised 
if he did escape !” 



45 


The Aide-de-Camp. 

“ Did I give thee thy desert”—observed Carl’s 
comrade, whose fiercest looks were kindled at 
Hermann’s reply. 

44 What then?” retorted Hermann firmly. 

4 ‘ Thou shouldst cease to live this instant. Are 
the rank and fortune of count Felsingen to be in 
jeopardy, for the sake of thy womanish scru¬ 
ples?” 

44 Peace, man!” said Carl rather angrily to 
Conrad, for that was his companion’s name. 
Then turning to Hermann, he proceeded : 4 4 The 
only compensation you can make the count, is to 
aid us in protecting him against the young man’s 
claim. Do this, and he forgives you; refuse, 
and his vengeance is certain.” 

“Neither your menaces nor count Felsingen’s 
power shall induce me again to participate in 
such a crime. Your earnestness gives me hope, 
as I must conclude the count has knowledge of 
his nephew’s existence, and my conscience is re¬ 
lieved of much that oppressed it. The lovely 
child whose tears, when I so barbarously desert¬ 
ed him, made no impression on my flinty heart, 
did, it appears, find an unexpected protector, 
who snatched him from a lingering death. I 
renounce, from this moment, the wages of ini- 


4G 


Tales. 


quity. Tell the count that if he resume not this 
house and land, I shall give them to the poor; 
and if he hope to obtain forgiveness for his 
crime, let him lose no time in doing justice to 
his brother’s son.” 

Conrad would that instant have plunged his 
sword into Hermann’s breast; but Carl interfer¬ 
ed, and commanded him to desist from a pur¬ 
pose which would injure their master. They 
promptly withdrew; and Hermann, for his more 
complete satisfaction, resolved to make inquiry 
in all the villages around the forest of Hartzwald. 

Not many days after, Frederick Muller took 
the road to Hartzburg. His approach to the 
scenes of his childhood—the appearance of the 
forest where he was left to perish — his providen¬ 
tial rescue — and the conjectures raised by the 
promise of an important communication, alto¬ 
gether rendered him exceedingly pensive. His 
personal thoughts could not, however, supplant 
those connected with his wounded affection: his 
ideas reverted to Elbersdorf, and the lady Helen’s 
untimely death predominated over every other 
topic. While she lived, as he could never hope 
to be accepted as her suitor, he felt the anguish 
of despair; now he could imagine a distant pos- 






The Aide-de-Camp. 47 

sibility of proving an illustrious birth; but his 
chance of happiness was past, and despondency 
would only change its form. Then the vivacity 
of youth would at intervals revive his spirits; 
he indulged in the prospect of regaining his 
yet unknown rights, and found relief in the 
various schemes depicted by his fancy. 

At length he beheld a stranger, who preceded 
him on the road. Having no desire for com¬ 
pany, he slackened his pace to maintain the dis¬ 
tance between them; and the brow of a hill hav¬ 
ing intercepted his view, on gaining the elevation, 
he beheld the traveller defending himself against 
two ruffians. To him such a sight was an irre¬ 
sistible summons to duty: he bade his servant 

ti 

remain out of sight, but within call, and has¬ 
tened on to render assistance. His shout to 
encourage the assailed party drew the assassins 
upon himself; his voice was known and recog¬ 
nised ; and he too discovered in a moment the 
agents of his enemy. Carl, with vehemence, 
exclaimed on his approach: u We have them 
both, but especially make sure of the aide-de- 
camp.” Their forces were equal, but as accom¬ 
plices might be at hand, Muller summoned his 


Tales. 


48 

attendant, and, with his aid, the miscreants were 
disarmed and secured. 

Conrad was stubborn, and with the hardihood 
and indifference consistent with his low condition 
and violent character, refused to confess his pur¬ 
pose, or say by whom he was employed. But 
Carl perceived he was known; and being better 
taught by living in more civilised society, he re¬ 
solved to secure every possible advantage from 
the turn of circumstances; and while he strove 
to escape the consequences of his criminal at¬ 
tempt, he was. not without hopes of promoting 
his master’s interests, by attaching certain con¬ 
ditions to his confession. 

u My life, sir, is in your power, for I aimed at 
taking yours ; and if you deliver me into the 
hands of justice, it is no more than I deserve.” 

u I am willing to pardon you,” replied Muller; 
“ but you must declare your employer.” 

u That is needless,” replied Hermann, who 
eagerly surveyed the figure and countenance of 
his deliverer; u I am sufficiently informed of 
all—count Felsingen—” 

Here Carl, determined not to lose all the merit 
of the disclosure, addressed Muller, u You are 








The Aidc-de-Camp. 49 

the true count Felsirtgen; your uncle is a vil¬ 
lain.” 

Gracious Heaven!” exclaimed Muller, u is 
it possible?” 

u Gracious Heaven!” repeated Hermann, u my 
mind at last is free !” Hermann and Carl simul¬ 
taneously threw themselves at the aide-de-camp’s 
feet, and implored his forgiveness. Completely 
disconcerted by the scene, Muller hastily de¬ 
manded an explanation, for it seemed impossible 
they were confederates. 

Hermann’s feelings almost prevented his speak¬ 
ing; but at length he was able to declare: “ In 
me, sir, behold the wretch who for gold consented 
to be your murderer—hut you were saved; and 
your presence this day has delivered me from the 
vengeance of your uncle, who has by some means 
heard that you miraculously escaped. Can you 
forgive my very heinous crime?” 

u Beware of trifling with me,” said Muller 
seriously; u I have no desire for vengeance 
against unhappy men, who sincerely regret their 
faults. Can you prove that I am the nephew 
of—” Emotion prevented his pronouncing the 
detested name, and Carl without hesitation de¬ 
clared, u Indeed, I can substantiate your right— 

k 



50 


Tales. 

bare your right shoulder, sir, and you will lind a 
scar that will establish your identity.” 

Muller, in a state of great agitation, resumed, 
u This scar, as an isolated circumstance, is al¬ 
most valueless ; hut explain what caused you to 
remark it.” 

u I must he rather lengthy in my statement,” 
replied Carl; u when the count began to visit 
Elbersdorf, he could not avoid noticing you; 
and as you were so much with the duke, he had 
frequent opportunities to observe your features. 
Whether he perceived a likeness of your father 
or not, 1 cannot say, but he inquired your age 
and place of birth; and from that time was very 
desirous of learning if you had not a certain scar 
on your right shoulder ! I watched every oppor¬ 
tunity to satisfy him; and you must remember, 
sir, that not long since 1 was near, when you 
plunged into the river to save a drowning boy. 
A change of clothes was promptly brought; I 
assisted you in dressing amongst the trees, and 
removed all doubts from my master’s mind.” 

u But as I was ignorant of its importance, that 
mark alone could not justify your engaging to 
murder me.” 

u True, sir; hut your letters fell into my mas- 






51 


The A ide-dc Camp. 

tcr’s hands, and from them he ascertained your 

desire to clear up the mystery which veiled your 

birth. With him every thing was at stake. His 

* 

marriage with the duke’s daughter would have 
assured him an ample fortune; but your de¬ 
parture from Elbersdorf exposed him to the dan¬ 
ger of an humiliating discovery, and the lady’s 
sudden death cut off his brilliant expectations. I 
obeyed his orders—-you know the rest.” 

u When this strange statement is authenti¬ 
cated,” observed Muller, u so far from fearing 
my resentment, you may both depend upon my 
generosity. At present, justice demands that I 
conduct you and yonder miserable fellow as pri¬ 
soners to Elbersdorf.” 

u I go voluntarily,” said Carl. u Be submis¬ 
sive, Conrad, and endeavour to merit clemency 
by candour.” 

Fortunately the duke had not yet left the 
castle, and a messenger was sent to summon the 
immediate attendance of count Felsin^cn. In 
complete ignorance of all that had passed, he 
hastened to Elbersdorf with the most joyful an¬ 
ticipations. The duke, he fancied, would adopt 
him as his heir; or at least contemplated some 
extraordinary demonstration of repaid, to alle- 



52 Tales. 

viate his sad disappointment at the loss of his 
bride. 

We make no attempt to describe his feelings 
on finding himself in the presence of so many 
accomplices of his crimes. The evidence was 
overwhelming; and the count, amazed, humbled, 
and disgraced, readily acknowledged Frederick 
Muller as his nephew and the lawful heir of Fel- 
sin^en. 

u 

The duke then addressed his aide-de-camp: — 
“ Justice should always be tempered with mercy. 
The injury done to you is beyond compensation, 
and the recovery of your rights has been inde¬ 
pendent of your uncle’s will; to say nothing of 
his recent plot against your life. He deserves in 
consequence no favour at your hands; but re¬ 
member he is still your father’s brother,—he is 
a soldier of great merit,—and the personal 
honours he has gained in arms are claims for 
consideration. Spare him therefore the penalty 
of public disgrace; that I entreat on his behalf. 
Every other arrangement I leave to your consi¬ 
deration and discretion.” 

“Whatever were my sentiments,” replied 
Frederick, “the word of your highness should 
he my law on this occasion. This is my proposal: 


53 


The Aide-de-Catnp. 

Provided he secure my right as his successor, I 
will leave him in undisturbed possession of the 
title and estates,” 

“Your declaration, my dear Frederick, does 
you honour, and this affair may be considered as 
terminated. I shall set out shortly for Vienna ; 
will you resume your old post ? I can appre¬ 
ciate the motives of your departure; and shall 
prize your company the more, because you can 
enter into my feelings.” 

The offer was highly congenial to the youth’s 
views. He hoped, in the bustle of military life, 
to find some alleviation to his sorrows; and it 
was arranged that, after a visit to the baroness, 
who had such claims upon his gratitude, he 
should set out for the emperor’s court. 

Their conversation had scarcely terminated, 
when the count, who had withdrawn in a state of 
violent agitation, sent word to request his ne¬ 
phew’s presence. It was to implore the youth’s 
forgiveness, and express his gratitude for the 
lenient turn given to an affair which might have 
led him to the scaffold. “ I rejoice, Frederick,” 
he observed, “that my brother is so nobly re¬ 
presented; you will do honour to his house, and 
l heartily wish”—his words became indistinct, 


54 Tales. 

hut Frederick thought he heard the name of 

o 

Helen more than once escape him. He advised 
his wretched uncle to he calm, and seek peace in 
the consolation of religion. Great care was 
taken to prevent his laying violent hands upon 
himself, and a pious minister endeavoured to 
persuade him to wait patiently for his appointed 
time. The pains of remorse were however more 
powerful than the chaplain’s exhortations; and 
the wretched count was at length found strangled 
with his handkerchief. 

The baroness of Hartzburg was in the mean 
time waiting with impatience and anxiety for 
Frederick’s appearance at her castle; and she 
began to entertain serious apprehensions of his 
fate. A letter from Elhersdorf at length in- 

o 

formed her of the extraordinary discovery which 
had been made. The intelligence to her was 
doubly welcome, because a much longer delay 
might have occasioned very serious conse¬ 
quences. Frederick’s good fortune not only re¬ 
moved the passing cloud, hut emboldened her 
to inform her brother that his daughter was still 
living. To escape the sacrifice enjoined by pa¬ 
ternal authority, it was requisite to hid an 
eternal adieu to the advantages of rank and 



The Aide-de-Camp. 55 

birth; blit those were trifles compared with the 
horror of becoming the wife of count Felsingen. 
Helen had determined to remain completely se¬ 
cluded for the remainder of her life; to be dead 
lo the world, and, as the price of her release, to 
renounce personal liberty. But the baroness 
had another project. Confident of Frederick 
Muller’s good qualities, she decided on institut¬ 
ing him heir to the estates of Hartzburg, which 
she inherited by right of her mother. And 
Helen’s tenderness was so apparent while danger 
was impending over him, that apprehensions for 
his safety threatened to undermine her feeble 
frame, not yet recovered from the last violent 
shock. The fond baroness contemplated, for a 
future day, the comfort and happiness her niece 
might enjoy, when her affection, no longer sell- 
condemned and viewed as derogatory, would re¬ 
vive and induce her to become his wife. 

Such was her scheme, and with the means at 
her command, its execution was not difficult. 
A draught skilfully prepared imparted, for some 
time, an appearance of death. The phial said 
to contain poison was left on the table, for the 
double purpose of removing any tendency to 
doubt, and to blind the general attention, by ex- 


56 


Tales . 


citing a deeper degree of sympathy. A bust of 
the young lady in wax was placed in her coffin. 
The deception was complete; and while the fu¬ 
neral service was recited amid the tears of all 
who knew the lady Helen, she was rapidly pro¬ 
ceeding on her road to Hartzburg. 

The duke had received a terrible lesson for his 
tenacity; the bitterness of his grief had begun 
to abate, when he received his sister’s letter. 
His joy knew no bounds, but he would not di¬ 
vulge the secret until he had once more clasped 
his daughter in his arms. The aide-de-camp’s 
delight, on ascertaining his birth and recovering 
his rights, was damped by the reflection of his 
good fortune having come too late, for what was 
most essential to his happiness. A week or two 
earlier, and the lady Helen might have encou¬ 
raged his affection; while her father’s sanction 
would have given life to his hopes. His most 
ardent wish at present was to meet an honour¬ 
able death; and when he expressed his regret at 
the repeated delays which prevented his de¬ 
parture for the imperial army, he was thrown into 
a blissful confusion of rapture and doubt, by 
hearing the duke announce the arrival of Helen 
with the baroness of Hartzburg. 



A FLEMISH LEGEND. 


Enlivened by the radiance of a fine spring 
morning, and exhilarated yet more by the occa¬ 
sion, the villagers and tenantry of Ardemburg, 
in Flanders, were preparing to celebrate a wed¬ 
ding. Peace had for some years smiled on their 
country; its fertile soil amply rewarded the la¬ 
bours of the rustic population; their contented 
dispositions made them happy; and the paternal 
sway of the baron d’Ardemburg left them no¬ 
thing to desire: all his vassals blessed him, and 
he blessed Heaven. 

At the appointed hour, a procession of young 
men and maidens accompanied the happy cou¬ 
ple to the little unornamented church, at whose 
porch the venerable cure was waiting to re¬ 
ceive them, and while they approached from one 
side, the baroness, whose constant practice was 
to mingle with the inhabitants on all occasions 
of public festivity, was perceived on the other, 



58 


Tales. 


advancing to grace the ceremony with her pre¬ 
sence. 

During its performance, a body of men-at- 
arms arrived. From the uniformity of their 
equipments, they were easily recognised as a 
detachment of the guard, organised hy the sene¬ 
schal of Flanders for maintaining the authority 

a j 

of count Ferrand, who had been detained in a 
wearisome captivity since the battle of Bou- 
vines. 

The party was drawn up behind a cluster of 
trees, to avoid observation hy the inhabitants of 
the castle; and its leader was seen listening, with 
obsequious deference, to the remarks of one, 
whose magnificent dress, and the splendid trap¬ 
pings of his charger, proclaimed him a person of 
importance. Before him was borne a banner, 
decorated with the arms of Flanders—a distinc¬ 
tion betokening his high rank. In fact, it was 
the seneschal, Adrian van Broucke, whose ta¬ 
lents, courage, and resolution had compensated 
for a rather humble origin ; hut as the sovereign 
was absent, his interests required that an ollicc 
of such importance should he filled hy a man of 
firmness and experience. Van Broucke had 
acquired the reputation of unhesitating decision; 


59 


A Flemish Legend. 

but while lie was considered as ever ready to 
adopt a vigorous measure, if necessary, he was 
esteemed too honourable to lend the influence of 
his character or office to the execution of an im¬ 
proper purpose. 

He soon learned the joyous circumstance which 
had attracted to Ardemburg the population of 
the surrounding districts. Their presence was 
calculated to impede the easy discharge of his 
commission; delay became advisable, and he 
ordered his guards to retire to a neighbouring 
town. 

In the interval, before he could commence the 
execution of his project, he decided on visiting 
Jan Oostman, a kinsman, whom he had not seen 
for many years, hut who, he was informed, held 
the chief farm under the baron d’Ardembum. 

a 

From him he hoped to obtain many particulars 
useful in the formation and arrangement of his 
plans; but, on inquiring for Oostman, he learned 
that the bride was his daughter, and that he 
would find him at church. To meet him there 
would have answered no purpose, so he waited in 
the vicinity of the farmer’s cottage until his 
return. 

On the other hand, Oostman had received in- 


GO 


Tales. 


formation that a body of men-at-arms was in the 
neighbourhood. Such a proceeding could lore- 
bode no good; and his attachment to the baron, 
at that time absent, compelled him to send imme¬ 
diate intelligence of what had occurred. When 
the ceremony was concluded, he hastened home, 
ordered one of his men to take horse, and pro¬ 
ceed with all speed to Furnes. The seneschal, 
unseen, overheard his instructions; he perceived 
that suspicion already dogged his movements, 
and resolved to take advantage of the indirect 
communication. u ’T is well, cousin Oostman,” 
he observed, with an air of satisfaction; “ had 1 
asked you to inform me where to find the baron, 
you would not have answered so readily.” The 
farmer’s messenger was speedily mounted, and, in 
a few minutes, was at a full trot on the road to 
Furnes. The seneschal, however, deemed it 
prudent to delay his appearance, in order to avoid 
awakening further the husbandman’s suspicions. 

When, at last, he presented himself at Oost¬ 
man’s door, the honest farmer expressed great 
delight at the honour conferred by his kinsman’s 
visit. A very long period had elapsed since they 
last met; the seneschal having been engaged in 
his duties, and Oostman feeling backward in 


A Flemish Legend . G1 

claiming relationship with one so much his su¬ 
perior ; he had no favour to ask, and he wished 
to avoid the appearance of any such intention. 

The mere presence of his followers having cre¬ 
ated much apprehension, it was evident to the 
seneschal, that any attempt to mystify the pur¬ 
pose of his visit would tend to strengthen the 
unfavourable prepossession ; he accordingly ad¬ 
dressed his kinsman with a frankness calculated 
to disarm his suspicion. The farmer listened 
with attention, and the seneschal was about to 
declare the object of his errand to Ardemburg. 

u The lady Matilda—” Oostman interrupted 
his visitor, but instantly checked himself, pru¬ 
dently recollecting that, although the seneschal’s 
kinsman, the affinity might not preserve him 
from the consequences of a hasty remark. His 
cousin noticed his change of countenance; he 
made no observation thereon, but resumed— 

‘ ‘ The lady Matilda wishes to know who is the 
beautiful young lady now residing at the castle.” 

“ To speak freely,” replied Oostman, u I am 
not without apprehension respecting your errand 
to Ardemburg; it betokens ill, originating with 

such a malicious princess as the lady Mat- 

u Hold, cousin Oostman ! 1 cannot hear such 








02 


Tales . 


language applied to my benefactress — it is to her 
I am indebted for my honourable post/' 

u Tis well, if you think so, but all Flanders 
is convinced of the contrary; and, in appointing 
you, she only did what justice required. Your 
own character, and the life of your father, sacri¬ 
ficed in the count’s defence, pave you a full claim 
to the distinction : and it is modesty that in¬ 
duces you to attribute the promotion to her kind¬ 
ness.’’ 

u At all events, we are bound to obey her 
commands while she governs Flanders in her 
brother’s absence, therefore I beg you will tell 
me all you know about this fair lady.” 

u She is an angel, both in disposition and ap¬ 
pearance;— that is the best description of the 
lady Rosa;—to know more, you must come and 
reside at Ardemburp.” 

a 

u But is she the baron’s wife or mistress?” 

“ That cannot concern the lady Matilda.” 
u You are mistaken :—before the count’s cap¬ 
tivity she was to be married to the baron, who 
received these fair lands as her dowry.” 

u I have heard something about it; and re¬ 
member that, afterwards, when he was called 
upon to fulfil his engagement, and refused, he 





1 Flemish Legend. G3 

was challenged by her cousin, count Albert, 
who fell in the combat.’’ 

“And there was foul play there, cousin.” 

“Indeed!” exclaimed Oostman, doubtingly. 

“ It was an assassination, not a combat, and 
the baron must give an account of that affair. It 
is not, however, on that subject that I am now 
making inquiry. The castle belongs to the lady 
Matilda, as the baron has not fulfilled his en— 
gagement, and this fair damsel must find an abode 
elsewhere; but, tell me, is she the baron's wife?” 

“ Were I inclined to doubt it, you may rest 
assured that nothing to her prejudice should pass 
my lips.” 

“Remember that, as regent of Flanders, the 
lady Matilda has a claim on your allegiance.” 

“And the lady Rosa has one equally strong on 
my gratitude—in due time, we shall see which 
feeling prevails.” 

Oostman’s declaration was followed by a si- 

u 

lence of several minutes, which was broken by 
requesting his visitor to accept some refresh¬ 
ment. The seneschal declined the offer; yet, 
though foiled in his expectation, he was secretly 
pleased at his kinsman’s simple independence ; 
and, as he did not wish to detain him from his 


Tales. 


64 

party, they separated,—Oostman to rejoin his 
daughter, the seneschal his men-at-arms. 

Before he reached the village where they had 
been ordered to remain, he beheld the detach¬ 
ment moving in the direction of the castle. Their 
number was augmented by a party of horsemen, 
who had escorted the lady Matilda from Ghent. 
She was conspicuous in the cavalcade not only 
by her dress, but from the space which separated 
her from the horsemen. Even her palfrey 
seemed conscious of his temporary importance, 
his paces exhibiting all the pride of full blood. 
Beside the lady, rode an individual of athletic 
form and hard features. He was not in ar¬ 
mour, but several deep scars sufficiently an¬ 
nounced his having faced the foe. His name 
was Bartholle : public rumour assigned him the 
good fortune of possessing lady Matilda’s affec¬ 
tions. Her friends looked upon him merely as 
her confidential adviser; but she had enemies, 
who did not scruple to censure her shameless 
conduct in receiving his attentions as a para¬ 
mour. He presided over a secret tribunal, which 
took cognizance of all charges against the nobles; 
and his dark visage was rendered more strikingly 

o o J 

sombre by his official costume — entirely black. 

* J 


65 


A Flemish Legend. 

The impetuous disposition of the princess 
would not permit her to wait the seneschal’s re¬ 
turn. She burned with desire to take vengeance 

o 

on the baron for his slight, and to punish the 
hated rival, who had not only confirmed his re¬ 
solution to renounce her alliance, hut whose 
beauty was so highly renowned as to he painful 
to her feelings. Long had she contemplated 
claiming the castle as her right, but the inves¬ 
titure by count Ferrand presented an insur¬ 
mountable harrier to her views. At length she 
found witnesses to declare the baron’s guilt con¬ 
cerning count Albert’s death. The occasion 
was readily seized ; his arrest was left to the 
seneschal; hut to eject the lady Rosa from the 
castle was a gratification she would not forego. 

In vain did the seneschal entreat her to delay 
presenting herself at Ardemburg, on account of 
the concourse of people assembled that day. She 
felt a malicious satisfaction in the thought that 
the blow she was going to strike would be more 
humiliating from its publicity, and immediately 
quickened the pace of her palfrey. She arrived 
before the castle at the moment when the fair 
Rosa was receiving a deputation of villagers, who 
presented the new-married pair, and offered 


5 




06 Tales. 

their sincere homage in baskets of flowers and 
garlands. 

Lady Matilda manifested much emotion as she 
alighted, and, with a hurried movement, ad- 
vanced to Rosa, whom she scornfully regarded 
for some minutes. She was so much under the 
influence of excitement, as to be a complete per¬ 
sonification of Anger. Her countenance blended 
the characteristics of fiend and virago, and her 
wild aspect struck awe into all around. Lady 
Rosa turned pale; and her enemy, considering 
it an indirect admission of her own superiority, 
pursued her advantage by assuming greater im¬ 
portance. 

Li My presence appears to alarm you, madam?” 

“ Certainly,” replied Rosa ; “ the manner in 
which you are announced is by no means calcu¬ 
lated to allay apprehension.” 

“ This force is only an escort: pray desire 
your attendants to retire—the prying curiosity 
of so many persons may be unpleasant—while I 
state the purpose of my visit.” 

L ‘ When you have sent your own followers to 
a distance, I will do the same. You have an es¬ 
cort, and I cannot forego the protection of my 
servants.” As lady Rosa concluded, she with- 










67 


A Flemish Legend. 

drew a few paces, as a measure of precaution. 
The preliminaries were soon adjusted, by the 
followers of each lady removing beyond the 
range of hearing. Lady Matilda then opened 
the conference by inquiring if Rosa knew her. 

“ I believe I have the honour of addressing 
the lady Matilda ?” 

“Yes! the sister of the count of Flanders, 
who wishes to know by what right you reside in 
her castle.” 

“When the count returns to his dominions 
you can learn it from him, but I shall submit to 
the interrogatory of no other person than my 
liege lord. None but count Ferrand has a right 
to question me.” 

“You mistake, fair lady ! I claim the baron 
as my husband-” 

“Is it possible?” exclaimed Rosa, in a sup¬ 
pressed tone, but with marks of much astonish¬ 
ment, while her enemy experienced delight at 
the erroneous impression which represented her 
husband as a deceiver. 

Lady Matilda then resumed:—“He can no 
more deny his engagement, than he can justify 
and clear himself from the crime of which he 


stands accused.” 






Tales. 


G8 

u Of a crime ?” 

u Yes! the murder of my cousin, count Al¬ 
bert;—he must answer for that assassination— 
no proof is wanting—and measures are already 
taken for his arrest and judgment. ” Matilda 
paused a little as she proceeded, observing ma¬ 
lignantly the effect of her declaration ; she then 
added :— u The avenging sword of justice hangs 
over him, and he cannot escape its fatal blow.” 

Lady Rosa was lost in amazement—she cast a 
wild look towards heaven, and almost imme¬ 
diately fell senseless at Matilda’s feet. A loud 
shriek burst from the attendants, who rushed 
forward to assist their mistress. They disre¬ 
garded the order to remain at a distance, and 
crowded to the spot, many among them appre¬ 
hending that the angry princess had struck her 
a fatal blow. Those countenances, which, a 
very short time before, had beamed with joy, 
were now clouded with sorrow, and tears and 
sobs loudly proclaimed the interest all felt in lady 
Rosa’s fate. 

Jan Oostman’s feelings were so warmly ex¬ 
cited, that he was about to interfere in a more 
violent manner than was consistent with the 
rank and sex of the offender. Lady Rosa’s state 






GO 


A Flemish Legend. 

would have justified his conduct to his own con¬ 
science, but, fortunately for him, he was pre¬ 
vented from approaching the lady by her at¬ 
tendants; and all he could do was to upbraid 
his kinsman, the seneschal, for having coun¬ 
tenanced the malicious freaks of the princess. 
With that view he earnestly sought his cousin, 
hut without effect. 

Meanwhile the lady Rosa recovered from her 
swoon, but its effects remained ; and, when she 
was conveyed into the castle, her deathlike pale¬ 
ness, and the slow pace of her weeping bearers, 
gave the whole a decidedly funereal aspect. The 
wedding festivities were abandoned; no thoughts 
of merriment could find place in the villagers’ 
bosoms; and the gaiety of the morning was an¬ 
nihilated in their anxious sympathy. 

The event was, however, productive of satis¬ 
faction to one—the lady Matilda—who gazed on 
the retiring procession with the complacency of 
gratified envy. She beheld a rival plunged into 
affliction; and as the bare notification of her 
husband s peril produced such effect, she tri¬ 
umphed in the anticipation of more complete 
venp-eance. Who can limit the force, or esti- 
mate the virulence of female jealousy ? It re- 


TO 


Tales. 

places every congenial feeling by its opposite. 
The natural sauvity of a woman s heart unhap¬ 
pily proves a favourable soil for the growth of 
the hateful passion, and what should promote 
ardent love, imparts vigour to nascent malignity. 

From a long and serious conversation between 
Matilda and the ferocious Bartholle, Oostman 
feared that some more violent project was medi¬ 
tated, and impatiently looked for the baron’s re¬ 
turn from Furnes. As the evening drew on, 
he set out on horseback to meet him, hut night 
was far advanced ere his perseverance was re¬ 
warded with any token of his approach. ITis ear 
at length caught the sound of horsemen, and he 
eagerly pressed forward to acquaint the baron 
that his presence was required at home. A few 
minutes brought him within hail, and he an- 
nounced himself by the signal in use among the 
baron’s vassals. He remarked that the party 
was unusually numerous; and felt surprised 
that the attendants did not instantly reply to his. 
call. He shouted a second time, and was an¬ 
swered by the baron’s well-known voice. 

u What news, Oostman?” 

“Sad, very sad, noble baron! spur, spur 
your charger, and hasten to Ardemhur.«\ IWy 




J 




A Flemish Legend. 71 

dear lady is very ill — your presence is re¬ 
quired.” 

u I am a prisoner, Oostman! and my pace 
must be regulated by the seneschal.” 

After muttering an exclamation of surprise, 
on finding his lord in custody, the farmer ac¬ 
costed the seneschal, who, at first, made no re¬ 
ply, but perceiving that Oostman endeavoured 
to approach the baron, he sternly called out, 
“ Go home to your family, Jan Oostman ; med¬ 
dle not in such affairs, or you may regret your 
imprudence.” 

The farmer was aw are that serious consequences 
might ensue if any hasty expression should es¬ 
cape him while excited by the painful discovery, 
lie could then account for the seneschal s de¬ 
parture from Ardemburg; and the high opinion 
he had hitherto ent erta ined of his cousin’s honour 
w r as insufficient to prevent his concluding that 
Bartholle’s conversation with the princess was 
connected with the baron’s arrest, lie could not 
assist his patron, but he reflected that he might 
be useful to lady Ilosa, and, on that account, 
hurried forward to the castle. 

As the seneschal and his prisoner proceeded, 
the sky became illuminated with a fiery tinge, 



72 


Tales. 

and, on reaching the brow of a hill, its cause was 
evident. Not a word had been uttered during 
the painful journey, hut at that moment the se¬ 
neschal suddenly exclaimed, “Heaven defend 
us! baron d’Ardemburg, your castle is in 
flames the conclusion was spoken less audi¬ 
bly; “and I suspect the conflagration is not 
accidental.” 

“Seneschal !” replied the baron, “you are a 
man of honour and a soldier; I pray you, calm 
my anxiety to the extent of your information.” 

The seneschal himself was a prey to doubt. 
He concluded that, if the lady Matilda’s dark 
plans of revenge had embraced a measure so 
diabolical as the destruction of her rival by such 

V 

a cruel death, she would certainly cast the odium 
of the deed upon him;—a measure of no great 
difficulty, since he had been made a party to her 
appearance at Ardemburg, by attending with his 
guards and insignia of office. He endeavoured 
by turns to console his unhappy prisoner, and to 
justify himself. 

The poor baron was unable to maintain the 
conversation; the seneschal soon ceased speak¬ 
ing, and, in a dead silence, the escort advanced 
towards the burning ruins of (he castle. The 



A Flemish Legend. 73 

devouring element liad become less appalling. 
The beams and rafters were consumed, and ma¬ 
terials no longer existed for sustaining the awful 
body of flame which had long reared its proud 
head to the heavens. The volume of thick smoke, 
which had rolled forth in an unbroken series, 
till the eye could no more mark its progress, was 
now sensibly diminished. Some timber-ends still 
remained, clinging to the blackened walls, and 
alimented small fires in different parts : they re¬ 
placed the united blaze, and displayed the horrors 
of destruction deprived of its terrific grandeur. 

The cries and lamentations of the villagers 
rendered it needless to make inquiry as to the ra¬ 
vages of the fire. Several of the baron’s servants 
were extended on the ground, wounded and dis- 
abled. They had penetrated into the galleries 
and chambers of the burning edifice, in the hope 
of rescuing their honoured mistress; but when, 
at the hazard of their lives, they succeeded in 
reaching her apartment, she could not be found. 
The melancholy summary of the event was soon 
communicated—lady Rosa had perished! 

“If remaining here, baron, could alleviate 
your affliction, be assured I would not order 

i ' 

your removal.” 

V 




74 Tales . 

The seneschal’s address was delivered with all 
the compassion which the case admitted. His 
duty compelled him to remit his prisoner to lady 
Matilda, as regent; he had been instructed to 
conduct him to Ardemburg, and fully expected 
to find ber there, in possession of her own do¬ 
main. Iiis place of destination no longer ex¬ 
isted, and he decided on proceeding to Ghent. 
But an unexpected scene awaited him in that city. 
The day had considerably advanced by the time 
he arrived, and the general ringing of hells pro- 
claimed some important occurrence. He per¬ 
ceived the houses were adorned with tapestry ; 
the damsels were preparing garlands, to hang in 
festoons across the streets; and the young men 
were forming parties, some as musical bands, 
others with the devices and emblems of their 
various trades. At the same time, the burgo¬ 
master and city officers were so busily engaged 
in arranging the ceremonial of the day, that they 
scarcely noticed the arrival of the seneschal and 
his party. At length he learned that count Fer- 
rand was released from captivity, and was ex¬ 
pected that day to make his public entrance into 
Ghent. 

The captive baron was delivered to the com- 


A Flemish Legend. 75 

potent authority, and remained in close confine¬ 
ment, awaiting the decision of the secret tribu¬ 
nal, hy which his guilt or innocence respecting 
the death of count Albert was to he examined 
and pronounced. 

When Matilda heard that her regency was so 
soon to terminate, she urged a speedy decision, 
in order that it might devolve upon her to con¬ 
firm the sentence ; an indispensable formality to 
he observed, before it became valid or could he 
made public. Bartholle willingly hurried the 
proceedings—the depositions were hastily read 
over, and (he baron s condemnation instantly 
pronounced. But notwithstanding his inde¬ 
corous haste, he was too dilatory for the revenge¬ 
ful princess. With cruel impatience she re¬ 
proached his delay, and repeatedly sent her 
attendants to look out for the expected mes¬ 
sengers from the terrible court. 

Their black robes were at last discerned, as 
they marched with a grave step, and graver 
countenance, across the great square, where 
their sombre appearance was more striking amid 
the gay dresses of the population. A look of 
general horror scowled upon them as they 
passed on to Matilda’s residence, for, although 







70 


Tales . 


few knew the cause of their present mission, all 
were convinced it was of fatal import . The mes¬ 
sengers then quickened their steps, and sought 
a refuge from the public execration in the ap¬ 
proval of the princess, who condescended to lay 
aside her habitual frown of indignation in ex- 
pressing her satisfaction at their appearance. 

The decree recited a summary of the evidence, 
and lady Matilda desired the messenger to pro¬ 
ceed at once to the sentence. The rigorous em- 

1 1 

pireof form had, however, too powerful a hold 
on the lawyer, who insisted on proceeding in the 
regular manner; a strict adherence to precedent 
being, in his eyes, the chief guarantee for a 
proper dispensation of justice. He accordingly 
read the tedious preamble, and more prolix state¬ 
ment. Lady Matilda’s eyes were fatigued with 
counting the sheets as he turned them over, and 
indulged in angry petulance at his solemn pe¬ 
dantic style, in wading through the circumlo¬ 
cutory phrases with which they abounded. At 
length the concluding sheet was in his hand, and 
she was gratified by the sight of an enormous 
black seal affixed thereto. Its appearance re¬ 
stored a death-like stillness in the apartment, 
where the buzz of private conversation had at- 


77 


A Flemish Legend . 

tested the trifling importance attached by all 
present to legal arguments; but the condemna¬ 
tion of a noble impressed them with awe, and 
they listened in profound silence to the conclud¬ 
ing words:— 

CT 

u For these causes, and on these grounds, the 
tribunal having duly and carefully examined—” 

At that moment a pursuivant entered, and in a 
commanding tone, proclaimed — u Ferrand, count 
of Flanders and Hainault, invites the lady Ma¬ 
tilda and all his liege nobles to present themselves 
before him at the Hotel de Ville.” 

“ Finish the decree !” exclaimed Matilda, 
hastily. 

“The law requires, madam, that it he read, 
first, before the sovereign, and count Ferrand 
himself must now decide upon it.” The mes¬ 
senger bowed as he replied, and forthwith tied 
up his papers. Matilda’s authority had expired— 
a few seconds more would have completed her 
plan; but she dared not manifest regret at an 
event so joyfully hailed by the public, and her 
allegiance demanded instant compliance with the 
summons. 

We need not attempt to describe the popular 
joy manifested at the count’s re-appearance in his 





78 


Tales . 


dominions. So many similar cases have oc¬ 
curred that it would he superfluous; hut his in¬ 
terview with the nobles and chief officers of state 
presented an interest peculiar to feudal times. 
A few strange faces were seen ; and a formal in¬ 
troduction was requisite for the new function¬ 
aries. Among others, Bartholle was introduced 
by lady Matilda to her brother. His post was 
important, hut a disapproving murmur was 
heard when she extolled his high qualities and 
noble character. Such an unfavourable expres¬ 
sion of sentiment could not fail to arrest the 
count s notice ; he resolved to inquire into its 
cause, and would probably have alluded to the 
subject at the time, if the general attention had 
not been drawn to Jan Oostman, who forced his 
way to the count s seat, and delivered a letter to 
this purport :—“ Noble count,—The most de¬ 
voted of your subjects demands permission to 
challenge the sire de Bartholle to mortal combat, 
engaging to prove him a felon and a traitor.” 

“From whom did you receive this, my 
friend?” 

“A stranger, who styles himself the knight of 
the Lion.” 

‘•Tell him, replied the count, “ that I will 


A Flemish Legend. 79 

# 

hold a tournament within three days; my per¬ 
mission is granted if he can justify his knight¬ 
hood. ” 

Matilda was confused, andBartholle astounded, 
but such a challenge could not he disregarded. 
The decree of the secret tribunal was afterwards 
submitted to the count, hut he observed that, 
with such a challenge undecided, approval of 
the sentence must be deferred. 

Oostman applied for admission to the baron s 
prison; his entreaty was disregarded. On re¬ 
newing his effort he was harshly repulsed, and 
was finally advised to desist, if he valued his 
own liberty. For himself the threat would have 
been despised ; hut he knew that, by remaining 
at large, he could assist his patron and friend. 
He accordingly waited for the time when Bar- 
tholle s crimes were to receive the judgment of 
Heaven, declared by wager of battle. 

The important morn at last arrived. The 
count, with a numerous company, was at the 
appointed place; and lady Matilda took her seat 
in a state of fearful suspense ; she could form 
no conjecture either as to the person or the mo¬ 
tives of the challenger. 

The knight of the Lion appeared alone in the 



Tales. 


80 

* 

lists. His coat of mail was unadorned, and the 
only device he displayed was a banner, on which 
figured a wounded lion : Oostman held it at the 

o 

extremity of the arena. The seneschal read 
aloud his challenge, with the count’s permission, 
and then summoned Bartholle to justify himself 
by his sword. He came forward with a daunt¬ 
less air, demanded if the challenger had proved 
his nobility, and, on the signal being given, 
rushed to the attack. The struggle was fierce, 
and obstinately contested; at last the knight of 
the Lion prevailed, and Bartholle, with his ex¬ 
piring voice, demanded the challenger’s name. 

u Count Albert!’’ replied the knight remov¬ 
ing his visor, and saluting his sovereign. The 
spectators loudly testified their satisfaction at the 
result, and the seneschal, after making the 
usual proclamation, advanced towards the lady 
Matilda, but she had fainted, and remained in a 
state of insensibility. 

That lady had insidiously persuaded her cou¬ 
sin Albert, who might have claimed a share of 
the government, to challenge the baron for his 
faithless conduct. She pretended an affection 
which she was far from feeling; and if she did 
not instigate Bartholle to assassinate him, she sub- 





81 


*4 Flemish Legend. 

sequently sanctioned liis attempt by her shame¬ 
less attachment. While Albert and the haron 
were engaged on that occasion, Bartholle and a 
band of ruffians attacked them both. The baron 
escaped with difficulty, and Albert was left on 
the ground, supposed to be dead. By remaining 
concealed in France, he gave great probability to 
the circumstance, which was afterwards ren¬ 
dered so fatally useful in establishing a charge 
of murder against the baron d’Ardemburg. He 
was no sooner informed of count Ferrand’s re¬ 
lease than he hastened to Ghent, and learned 
from Oostman, whom he met near the burning 
castle, some details, which caused him to send a 
mortal defiance to the infamous Bartholle. 

Ilis name was confidently communicated to 
the seneschal, who questioned him upon his 
qualifications to enter the lists. Yet, although 
the baron s innocence was thus fully proved, the 
secret remained undivulged till after the combat, 
when the prison-door was thrown open, and 
Oostman hastened to impart a hope that lady 
Rosa had escaped the flames. After quitting 
the haron on the fatal night, he fell in with a 
party of the seneschals men-at-arms, who 
were conveying a lady in great haste across the 

6 



82 


Tales. 


country; he followed, and saw them deposit their 
charge at a convent near Bruges. The possi¬ 
bility that it might be Rosa revived the unhappy 
baron, and encouraged him to make further re¬ 
search, which was rewarded by the happy dis¬ 
covery of her being in safety. 

The baron lost no time in presenting lady 
Rosa to the count. A paleness, almost mortal, 
had settled on her beauteous face; yet, though 
ill qualified at the moment to appear in public, 
she had a duty to perform which demanded the 
suppression of her feelings, and compelled her to 
disregard personal inconvenience. She addressed 
count Ferrand with a tremulous voice:—‘‘The 
abbess of the Grand Beguinage, on her death¬ 
bed, enjoined me, sire, to deliver this ring to 
you;—it was my mother’s. At her decease she 
placed it in the pious lady’s care, and I have 
anxiously sighed for your return to Flanders, 
that I might discharge this duty.” 

The count’s eyes were riveted on Rosa before 
she had commenced speaking; but, when he be¬ 
held the ring, his emotion could not be re¬ 
strained. He embraced her with tenderness, and 
exclaimed, “ My child ! my dear child ! your mo¬ 
ther’s features are re-produced in your face. 







83 


A Flemish Legend. 

Your presence restores the image of my first love, 
whom I lost while detained in a distant cam¬ 
paign. T knew she left a daughter, but I could 
form no hope of ever finding you—and the wife 
of baron d’Ardemburg! I had intended my sister 
for him—I am happy that he has my daughter. 
Call the lady Matilda, that she may learn my joy¬ 
ful discovery.” 

The lady did not, however, obey the sum¬ 
mons. Oostman’s disclosure had affected the 
seneschal’s character; his men were implicated 
in the destruction of the castle, and the abduction 
of lady Rosa. He commanded a severe inquiry ; 
and the result of his investigation was so serious, 
that he would divulge it to none but count Fer- 
rand himself. 

To be so violently thwarted in her hopes of re¬ 
venge, and stand accused of planning a series of 
the most atrocious crimes, was more than Matil¬ 
da’s haughty spirit could endure. The discovery 
of Rosa’s relationship to the count fell upon her 
like an electric shock; and the frightful history 
of Ardemburg seemed ready to arraign and con¬ 
demn her. The convulsive swellings of her an¬ 
guish exceeded her powers; and when a mes¬ 
senger entered her apartment with a summons 
to appear before count Ferrand, she was lifeless. 







( 84 ) 


CROMWELL’S DIPLOMACY. 


Between Cromwell and Napoleon it would be 
much easier to establish a parellel than a com¬ 
parison. In several periods of their respective 
lives, there is certainly a great similarity; but 
there exists such a broad distinction between 
the times which produced these extraordinary 
men—such a marked difference between the 
stages on which they figured, that for their 
characters to be studied profitably, they must 
be examined separately. 

When it is considered that Cromwell’s entire 
force was scarcely equal to a division of the 
French imperial army, the military exploits of 
these commanders cannot be placed in the same 
scale. However, without wielding the prepon¬ 
derating influence of a colossal power, Cromwell 
acquired an authority over the ministers of con¬ 
temporary governments, to obtain which Napo¬ 
leon long aspired in vain—pursuing his object 



Cromwell's Diplomacy . 85 

with a degree of ardour, that blinded him to its 

fatal effects upon the resources of his own 
country. 

Cromwell’s political views were profound; he 
sustained the honour, and interests of Britain, 
whenever he perceived they were likely to be 
compromised. He lost no opportunity for im¬ 
peding the Hutch in their commercial rivalry, 
and seized every occasion for humbling tbe 
power of Spain; but in the execution of those 
measures he proceeded skilfully through the in- 
tricacies of diplomacy—if artifice and stratagem 
be deemed worthy of that appellation. At all 
events the protector avoided, by that course, the 
rock on which the emperor was wrecked: he 
disgusted no tributaries by forced levies—he ex¬ 
cited no discontent by the demands of a war 
expenditure—and humanity was spared many 
sickening scenes of military devastation. 

Wiquefort (in his treatise on the functions 
of an ambassador), mentions that the Spanish 
government hastened to acknowledge the re¬ 
public of England, out of resentment for 
Charles I. having encouraged the Braganza re¬ 
volution in Portugal; and adds, that the king of 
Spain offered Cromwell a monthly subsidy of a 


86 


Talcs. 

hundred thousand crowns, of which two months 
were to be constantly paid in advance; and, in 
addition, a body of twenty thousand men, to aid 
him in retaking Calais from the French. That 
scheme induced Mazarin to change his views; 
for at first he was inclined to support the Stuart 
interests. Mazarin was known to fear Cromwell; 
and the chance of his forming a treaty of alliance 
with Spain was so alarming, that the English 
princes were ordered out of France; and Lock¬ 
hart, the republican ambassador, was received 
with the same honours as would have been 
offered to the representative of a crowned head. 

Dr. Welwood observes in his most interesting 
memoirs, alluding to Cromwell: u No man was 
ever better served, nor took more pains to be so. 
As he was severe to his enemies, so was he bene¬ 
ficent and kind to his friends; and if he chanced 
to hear of a man, fit for his purpose, though 
ever so obscure, he sent for and employed him; 
suiting the employment to the person, and not 
the person to the employment: and upon this 
maxim in his government depended, in a great 
measure, his success.” 

Cromwell had confidential agents at every 
court; and a secretary of Mazarin himself re- 


87 


Cromwell s Diplomacy . 

gularly communicated to him the decisions and 
orders of the French government. Among many 
curious cases which arose out of his early and 
extensive information, the failure of Mazarin s 
scheme upon Dunkirk is worthy of notice. It 
was agreed, by treaty, that the town should be 
attacked by the combined English and French 
forces, and when taken, it was to be given up to 
England. Mazarin had however given secret 
orders to the French commander to hold the 
town for him : this came to Cromwell s know¬ 
ledge, and he instantly* reproached the French 
ambassador with Mazarin’s designed breach of 
promise. The ambassador being really ignorant 
of the orders given, insisted upon the impossi¬ 
bility of any such project being entertained. 
Upon which Cromwell, taking a paper out of his 
pocket, observed : c< There is a copy of the car¬ 
dinal’s order ; and I desire you will despatch an 
express immediately to let him know I am not to 
be imposed upon; and that if he does not deliver 
to Lockhart the keys of Dunkirk within an hour 
after the place is taken, tell him I will come in 
person, and demand them at the gates of Paris.” 

The message produced the intended effect, and 
Dunkirk was given up to English authorities. 


88 


Tales. 


Only three persons knew the cardinal’s secret— 
the queen, Turenne, and a secretary. Mazarin 
blamed the queen, whom he long suspected of 
divulging it lo some of her women; but after the 
secretary’s death, it was discovered that he had 
for years kept up a regular correspondence with 
Cromwell. There was a popular notion in Paris, 
that Mazarin had less dread of the devil himself 
than of Cromwell, the mention of whose name 
alone would cause him to change countenance. 

Doubtless many of Cromwell’s schemes (pro¬ 
ducing results attributed by the public to other 
causes) are, and will ever remain, completely 
unknown. Several personal anecdotes concern¬ 
ing him have been transmitted exclusively by the 

U i V 

medium of private letters, preserved among fa¬ 
mily papers. Others have little more than a 
traditional character; but, on examining some 
statements of this class, and comparing their 
details with authentic accounts, incidents are 
discovered through which the record of an ob¬ 
scure event is perfectly explained by the popular 
narrative—a case fully borne out by the follow¬ 
ing instance: — 

Cromwell paid great attention to military pa¬ 
rade ; and although his own ordinary dress was 


89 


Cromwell's Diplomacy. 

very plain, his guards were splendidly attired ; 
and on public occasions he would display a cer¬ 
tain degree of magnificence. He found much 
pleasure in reviewing the troops, and walked a 
great deal before the lines. One day, accompa¬ 
nied by Ireton and Fairfax, with whom he was 
engaged in animated conversation, he suddenly 
quitted them, and accompanied a dirty, ragged 
individual to a distance, conversed with him a 
few minutes, and then resumed the military in¬ 
spection. Cromwell perceived, from the looks 
which Fairfax and Ireton exchanged, that they 
attributed what had occurred to some uncommon 
cause; but he made no remark until about a 
month afterwards ; when hein^ at dinner with 
them, after asking if they remembered the cir¬ 
cumstance, he added : u The man you saw me 
speak to is a Spanish Jew. He informed me that 
some galleons were expected at Cadiz: I took 
measures accordingly; and have this morning 
heard that Blake has brought two of them into 
Plymouth.” 

But the rich capture was not Cromwell’s only 
object; his deep calculations enabled him to com¬ 
bine the circumstance with another project of 
still greater importance. He summoned his 


90 


Tales. 

secretary Tlmrloe, the only man in whom he 
placed real confidence; and even with him there 
was a limit, for the secretary was often com¬ 
pletely ignorant of the protector’s plans. How¬ 
ever, his promptitude and punctuality, in exe¬ 
cuting Cromwell’s commands, rarely failed to 
obtain approbation. He was now ordered to 
procure the most expert picklock that could be 
found; and at that time there happened to be a 
house-breaker in Newgate, under sentence of 
death, whose talents surpassed every thing that 
had been heard of. The thief was soon brought 
into Cromwell’s presence, when he learned that 
he would receive a free pardon and a liberal 
remuneration, if he strictly followed his instruc¬ 
tions ; but that the least deviation from orders, 
or any indiscreet allusion to his mission, would be 
certainly punished with death. A change of con¬ 
dition, even on harsher terms, would have been 
delightful to a man in his situation ; and he 
joyfully set out for Madrid, where he was to walk 
daily during a given time on the Prado—to speak 
to nobody—but in case a man, wearing a cloak 
of a peculiar colour, should make a particular 
sign, three times consecutively, he was to follow' 
that person and do as he was commanded. 


91 


Cromwell's Diplomacy. 

For several days the envoy walked on the Prado 
without observing any one who answered the de¬ 
scription he had received. He was not at all 
impatient, as the novelty of the situation had a 
thousand charms for him; being now, probably 
for the first time in his life, supplied with funds 
without exercising his audacity or ingenuity. 
In obedience to instructions, he looked out for 
the individual he was to notice so carefully; and 
often, when he fancied he could distinguish the 
peculiar coloured cloak, he watched intensely, 
but saw nothing of the thrice-repeated signal. 
In fact, he was himself very closely observed by 
his future, and as yet unknown, director; and 
reversing the quotation, it might have been said 
of him—“The man is come, but not the hour.” 

At length the moment for operation arrived, 
and the concerted signal was given three times in 
the envoy’s view: there was no room for doubt, 
so he followed the party to a retired place, where 
he was asked if he had his implements. On his 
reply in the affirmative, he was conducted through 
a succession of narrow lanes and secluded streets, 
till he reached the private entrance to a large 
garden. 

“There,” said the stranger, u I must leave you 


92 


Tales. 


as soon as I have given you the necessary instruc¬ 
tions—execute them punctually, and your for¬ 
tune is made. When you have opened this door, 
follow the path on your left until you clear the 
grove; you will then perceive a little pavilion 
nearly opposite to you. It is scarcely probable 
that any one will be in the garden at this hour ; 
but should you discover anyone, or hear a noise, 
do your best to avoid being seen and wait until 
all is again quiet. If seen and questioned, say 
you are in the service of don Luis de Haro. Do 
you well understand these instructions ?” 

u Perfectly.” 

u You will then open the door of the pavilion, 
taking particular care not to damage the lock. 
Remember that you must disturb nothing when 
you have entered.—Forget your old profession, 
or you will still be hanged—mind that! Place 
this letter on the sofa, and retire; leaving every 
door locked as you come away. Proceed at once 
to your lodgings, where I shall wait for you.” 

The commission was executed without any 
contrariety arising to mar, or even to impede, the 
scheme; and within an hour from the time the 
pavilion had been secretly visited, king Philip IV 
was observed slowly walking thither, according 


Cromwell’s Diplomacy. 93 

to his practice, in order to converse privately 
with his prime minister, don Luis de Haro. 
Excepting that minister, not a soul had access to 
the elegant retreat; nor did he ever presume to 
go there without intimation that the king ex¬ 
pected him. On this occasion, to his great asto¬ 
nishment, he found on arriving at the pavilion, 
that the king had departed. He hastened to the 
palace, where, however, he could obtain no ex¬ 
planation. Under great apprehension that his 
sovereign might have been suddenly taken ill, 
he sent for the chief physician ; and from him he 
learned that his majesty, being indisposed, had 
lain down to rest, and was asleep. 

Without the least idea that his own integrity 
was then called in question, his principal fear was 
that the monarch’s indisposition might be the 
commencement of a serious illness; an impres¬ 
sion which was confirmed and augmented by the 
grave looks of padre Alonzo Perez, a jesuit, who, 
without having the acknowledged rank of con¬ 
fessor to the king, was frequently consulted on 
important affairs, and particularly on matters 
involving the reputation of grandees. Don Luis 
remarked that the father had answered him with 
unusual caution, and appeared far from anxious 


94 


Tales. 


to display that obsequious attention which tacitly 
acknowledges the power of rendering a service; 
a feature which hitherto strongly characterised 
his address. Now his tone rather bespoke the 
consciousness of having protection and favour at 
his own disposal. 

Philip IV was seriously affected by the disco¬ 
very he had made: he was not however willing to 
form a decision hastily, and ordered secret in¬ 
quiry. Don Luis, as prime minister, could not 
be long excluded from the royal presence; and 
on the following day he appeared before the king, 
whose countenance, though depressed, manifested 
no traces of anger. 

u Your majesty’s indisposition yesterday—” 
said don Luis, bowing with the reverence which 
Spanish etiquette required in the king’s pre¬ 
sence. 

He was interrupted by the monarch :— u Was 
occasioned by your carelessness in allowing your 
despatches to lay about, for any one to peruse.” 

Don Luis protested his inability to comprehend 
the allusion; and inquired what letters were the 
object of the king’s remark. 

“ What letters!” said Philip angrily — u whose 
can you suppose I allude to, but Cromwell’s?” 


Cromwells Diplomacy. 95 

Don Luis was amazed; and the colour fled 
Irom liis cheeks, when the king placed before him 
the letter which had been left in the pavilion, to 
I he following effect: 

u My dear don Luis, 

u I cannot adequately express my admiration 
of your talents, nor my gratitude for your friend¬ 
ship. Continue your apparent hostility to me— 
it preserves me from enmity in other quarters. 
By pretending to despise me personally, there is 
less likelihood of your real sentiments being dis¬ 
covered. Your information reached me in time 
—the galleons are safe in Plymouth, and I have 
placed your proportion of the prize - money 
(twenty thousand pounds) in the bank of Genoa, 
where it waits your disposal. 

“ I consider the time is arrived for realizing 
our old project at Naples. You have governed 
Spain long enough to qualify yourself for a 
throne, as I do not imagine you will be satisfied 
with a protectorate. More of this in my next : 
meanwhile I shall send a fleet into the Mediterra¬ 
nean, with orders to assist vour friends. 

u Oliver Cromwell.” 

Don Luis de Haro was too experienced a cour- 


9G 


Tales. 


tier to stake his defence on his unfeigned igno¬ 
rance of the letter being written, lie pretended 
to know that such fabrications had been resorted 
to, with a view to deprive him of the king’s con¬ 
fidence. An investigation, he felt assured, would 
prove the letter a forgery. 

Philip, on his side, was unwilling to consider 
don Luis capable of disgracing himself by an infa¬ 
mous league with Cromwell, doubly odious at 
that time, as an enemy to the state, no less than 
the religion, of Spain. But, on the return of a 
confidential messenger from Genoa, it was placed 
beyond doubt, that the sum of twenty thousand 
pounds was really at the disposal of don Luis de 
Haro. The chances of an attempted revolution 
became more and more probable in the king’s 
apprehension, and naval reinforcements were 
ordered from the Atlantic, to strengthen the fleet 
in the Mediterranean. That was the real object 
of Cromwell’s artifice : he diverted the imposing 
force of the Spanish monarchy from the point 
which he intended to attack; the king’s confi¬ 
dence in don Luis being shaken, the vigour of 
that nobleman’s administration was relaxed ; and 
the year 1655 witnessed the annexation of Ja¬ 
maica to the British dominions, from which the 


Cromwell's Diplomacy. 97 

successors of Philip IV have never been able to 
withdraw it. 

It is not pretended that Cromwell’s letter was 
textually as is given above; neither can it be 
shown by historical documents that a condemned 
felon was taken out of Newgate to execute the 
commission; but it is asserted by Dr. Welwood, 
on the authority of secretary Thurloe, that he 
was once commanded by Cromwell to go at a cer¬ 
tain hour to Gray’s inn, and at such a place deli¬ 
ver a bill for twenty thousand pounds, payable to 
bearer at Genoa, to a man he should find walking 
in such a habit and posture as he described him, 
and without speaking one word : which, accord¬ 
ingly Thurloe did; and never knew, to his dying 
day, either the person or the occasion. 


C 08 ) 


A TRAGICAL EPISODE. 


The following narrative would have been more 
suitably placed among the general accounts of 
the Camisard war, which it was the writer’s task 
to describe in relating the persecutions of the 
Huguenots; but, like many olher very interesting 
facts, it was necessarily excluded from that work, 
which must have forfeited all pretension to con¬ 
ciseness, if every affecting event had been de¬ 
tailed. 

The Camisard insurrection, which began in 
the summer of 1702, appeared, after a continu¬ 
ance of more than eighteen months, no nearer 
its termination than at the outset. The energy 
of the persecuted-protestants rose with their dif¬ 
ficulties—every additional cruelty tended only to 
kindle a more ardent degree of sympathy—and 
fresh recruits for the insurgent bands were raised 
by the distress which followed the devastations 



A Tragical Episode. 99 

and massacres attendant on (lie blind and besot¬ 
ted policy of Louis X1Y. 

From the governor of the province down to the 
common executioner, every functionary appears 
to have stifled the ordinary feelings of humanity; 
and such a bad example could not fail of quickly 
converting soldiers into sanguinary butchers. 
Every one felt confident that no blame would be 
raised against the most wanton cruelty—no cen¬ 
sure would fall upon the most glaring abuse : 
while on the other hand a charge of weakness, 
and probably an insinuation of disloyalty, if not 
of heresy, would be the unavoidable consequence 
of humane conduct. 

The atrocities committed in suppressing this 
revolt cannot be denied, for the ordonnances 
issued by the intendant Basville and marshal 
Montrevel are extant. As the pertinacity of the 
insurgents defied one degree of severity, the cord 
was strained still tighter, and at last, the bare 
fact of being in the country without a written 
permission, was punished with death—no trial 
was requisite—to be found outside a walled town 
was equivalent to being taken in arms—not to 
return punctually at the expiration of a permit¬ 
ted absence, was punished with the same rigour. 



100 


Tales. 


The baron d’Aygaliers has recorded a most 
heart-rending case of the cruel application of 
these decrees; and as this affecting incident gives 
no room for supposing any impulse, either of 
personal resentment or cupidity, it must have 
been prompted altogether by the prevalent desire 
to display reckless zeal against the Huguenots, 
conformably to the fashion at court. 

A captain of the Soissons regiment, named La¬ 
place, commanded in the town of Lasalle, in the 
Cevennes. His physiognomy was unfavourable; 
and from his disposition and character, he ap¬ 
pears “ better qualified to serve under the Inqui¬ 
sition, than in the armies of the king of France.” 
Such was the expression used at the time; and 
its adoption by d’Aygaliers establishes a proof of 
the prevalent tendency to flattery; for in reality 
the conduct of the French troops during the 
Dragonnades was precisely such as might have 
been expected from the mercenaries of St. Domi¬ 
nic ; and d’Aygaliers himself was a victim of into¬ 
lerance. * 

Four inhabitants of the neighbourhood, com¬ 
pelled by the general order to reside in Lasalle, 

* His untimely death is described in the History of the Hu¬ 
guenots. 


A Tragical Episode. 101 

applied to this captain for permission to visit their 
homes; one of them was accompanied by a young 
girl, his relation: Laplace granted their request, 
but ordered them to return the same day. Not 
only was it the intention of all the party to go back 
punctually that evening to Lasalle, but they had 
actually proceeded part of the way, when they 
were overtaken by a dreadful hurricane, which 
compelled them to seek refuge in a farm house. 
As the storm continued, the men would have 
preferred braving the boisterous elements to 
risking the terrible violence of their cruel com¬ 
mander : hut the poor girl implored them, with 
tears, to remain with her till the dawn—unfor¬ 
tunately for her, no less than for themselves, 
they consented. 

The sun had scarcely risen when they arrived 
at Lasalle, where their doom was quickly sealed, 
as Laplace was determined they should feel the 
rigour of his severity. In vain they attempted 
to explain the cause of their delay, or to appeal 
to their early return before the day had well 
opened ; he would not suffer them to say one 
word, but inhumanly ordered them to be led 
outside the town, where they were instantly shot. 

The entire population was assembled to witness 




102 


Tales . 


this terrible scene; and the poor girl was an ob¬ 
ject of general compassion. Her youth, beauty, 
and innocence pleaded on her behalf; even the 
Soeurs Regentes (an order of religieuses ) exerted 
themselves to save her life. So anxious were 
those women to avoid the wanton sacrifice, that 
they urged the unfortunate girl to declare her¬ 
self pregnant. At first, she would not listen to 
the suggestion: even the sight of her unhappy 
companions, inhumanly butchered before her 
eyes, could not induce her to asperse her own 
honour : and all the well-meaning sisters could 
obtain of her was permission to make the declara¬ 
tion in her name. 

But the blood-thirsty Laplace, instead of avail¬ 
ing himself of a humane pretext for avoiding fur¬ 
ther cruelty, saw, at a glance, the object of the 
sisters; he gave orders for a professional examina¬ 
tion, and a midwife was instantly summoned. 
The anxiety to save the girl was universal, and 
the midwife humanely consented to the decep¬ 
tion :—she reported to the commander that preg¬ 
nancy existed. 

u Well, then,’’ said the pitiless wretch, “ let 
them both be placed under arrest; and if, at the 
expiration of three months, there are no further 


103 


A Tragical Episode. 

signs of pregnancy, instead of one victim, there 
shall be two !”—This sentence terrified the mid¬ 
wife; who immediately confessed her false declara¬ 
tion, which arose from her desire to save the life 
of an innocent girl. Forthwith the poor victim 
was conducted to the place where she had seen 
her unfortunate companions murdered; and 
while their limbs were still quivering, she was 
barbarously despatched, to rejoin them in an¬ 
other world. 

Court, a most careful and intelligent writer, 
mentions that this wanton cruelty took place on 
the sixteenth of March, 1704. 






( 104 ) 


THE STREET SWEEPER, 
A Tale of Vicissitudes. 


Scarcely any of the humble occupations of 
civilised life have more claims upon our sympathy 
than that of sweepers at crossings. u In every 
deep there is a lower deep,” and even the artistes 
balayeurs may be regarded with envious feelings 
by some in an inferior station. But despised as 
is their calling, their retributions are fairly earn¬ 
ed ; their employment is that of honest indigence, 
and if any member of this useful fraternity should 
follow the prevailing fashion, and publish his 
u Recollections,” there would be a fine field for 
lively description in the variety of scenes which 
he unceasingly beholds. Not that I would sug¬ 
gest the undertaking; for it is ten thousand 
chances to one that an ample share of interest and 
merit combined, would fail in obtaining a suffi¬ 
cient remuneration to create a desire to exchange 




105 


The Slreet Sweeper. 

stations with a “literary gentleman;’' who is 
unquestionably harder worked, proportionally 
worse requited, and cannot look upon his daily 
task as finished at nightfall. 

But a truce to discursive paragraphs, which, 
however just and true they may be, will scarcely 
persuade a single tenant of Grub-street to sally 
forth and seek for coppers with a Broom in his 
hand. I freely confess my own reluctance, al¬ 
though I consider the sweeper’s share of happi¬ 
ness is far from scanty. He pays no taxes—has 
no appearance to maintain—and is free from the 
tyranny of publishers; but— but pride, the sin of 
fallen angels, is inherent to our nature; and we 
are averse to descend in the social scale. 

It will be seen that the subject of this article 
did really descend when he aspired to the charge 
of sweeping the path at Charing-cross, where he 
thankfully received the donations of those worthy 
citizens, who, being desirous to appear in the Mall 
with clean shoes, could appreciate his diligence; 
unless a continuance of fine weather removed the 
evidence of his utility and suspended his receipts, 
by causing a long vacation in his profession. 

As he remained at his post, before the statue 
of the martyr-king, two spirited horses in a 


100 


Tales. 


nobleman’s carriage having taken fright, were 
dashing furiously down the streets, while the 
pace of all passers-by was quickened to avoid the 
danger. One individual, feeble and lame, was 
unable to gain the foot-path: he made an effort 
as the peril became more imminent, and fell 
almost before the ungovernable animals. His 
death seemed inevitable, when the sweeper nim¬ 
bly sprang forward, and drew him aside in time 
to escape the danger. Such a service was fol¬ 
lowed by a wish, almost amounting to a com¬ 
mand, that the sweeper should call at the rescued 
persons residence. He went: his replies soon 
gave evidence that he had been destined for a 
better line of life; and with the sincere desire of 
being useful, his name and birth-place were in¬ 
quired after. The information was at first with¬ 
held : but on being pressed, he declared, under 
promise of secrecy, that his name was Ambrose 
Gwinnett. 

A death-like paleness seized the gentleman. 
With his eye fixed on the sweeper, he endea¬ 
voured to speak : hut his lips quivered, and for 
some time utterance was impossible. At length 
he expressed his grateful joy at the discovery. 
u You must lay aside your broom—I rejoice 1 am 


The Street Sweeper. 107 

able to remove you from indigence, and make 
provision for your future comfort.” 

But what w as the previous history of Ambrose 
Gwinnett? He kept a day school at a little town 
upon the coast; and with a view- of helping out 
the ways and means of his scanty budget, he 
received a lodger, who, for some cause, main¬ 
tained a complete mystery respecting his name 
and connections. His reserve excited observa- 
vation ; curiosity induced the towns-people to 
watch his movements; and as a natural conse¬ 
quence, the most lively interest pervaded the 
neighbourhood, when it w as made known that he 
had disappeared. Poor Gwinnett in vain ex¬ 
pressed his astonishment at his lodger’s depar¬ 
ture ; surmises and suspicions were current; and 
among other reports, one represented the miss¬ 
ing gentleman to have had a large sum of money 
about him. His rooms were searched, and the 
bed-clothes were found deeply stained with blood: 
its traces were perceived down the stairs, and 
along the street to the sea-side. What evidence 
could be more appalling or conclusive ? Ambrose 
Gwinnett was tried, condemned, and hanged in 
chains. Happily, the fact of the murder could 

not be fully established, or dissection would have 
*' 


108 


Tales. 


rendered his case hopeless: but the robbery was 
beyond all doubt, and that respect which the ill- 
fated schoolmaster had long enjoyed was ex¬ 
changed for the imprecations of his friends and 
acquaintance. 

On the evening following his execution, one of 
his scholars approached the gibbet: numbers of 
spectators had loitered about during the day, 
drawn by curiosity : but this lad came alone, 
attracted by a feeling of pity, and wishing to take 
a farewell look at his master, uninterrupted by 
the cruel taunts which escaped all around him. 
It was a still evening, and the falling shades had 
driven all others from the terrific spot. To his 
astonishment he heard a voice :— u Go to my 
brother!” said Gwinnett, u and tell him to be 
here when it is quite dark.” The communica¬ 
tion appeared incredible ; but the brother went, 
and Gwinnett was released from his awful situa¬ 
tion. London offered the best retreat for one 
in his predicament; and he sought oblivion in 
the capital, where, for many years, he swept a 
crossing for his maintenance. 

Ignominy still clung to his memory. The 
body was missed, and his relatives were suspect¬ 
ed of removing it; but as all supposed their oh- 


109 


The Street Sweeper . 

ject was to have it interred, humanity forbade a 
very strict inquiry. Yet for every social pur¬ 
pose he was dead to his kindred: and when at a 
later period, some vague rumours of the truth 
were in circulation, they were treated as a 
scheme of his family to obliterate the disgrace. 

After a lapse of time, Gwinnett’s lodger re¬ 
turned to England, and found himself as u one 
risen from the dead” to his relations, who had 
traced him to the scene of his supposed assassin¬ 
ation. His feelings were greatly affected by the 
account of Gwinnett’s condemnation as his mur¬ 
derer ; and although he was informed of the ru¬ 
mour that he was still alive, he viewed it as al¬ 
together impossible; and hopelessly mourned an 
event with which he had been involuntarily and 
unconsciously connected. Unexpectedly his 
preservation at Charing-cross, brought him in 
contact with one, whose voice and features for¬ 
cibly struck his attention. Memory then came 
to his assistance; and the declaration of Gwin¬ 
nett’s name at once established his identity, and 
confirmed the incoherent tradition preserved 
among his former neighbours. 

The gentleman had, in consequence of heavy 
losses at play, resolved to seek retirement; 


Tales. 


] 10 

avoiding his creditors and retrieving his affairs 
at the same time. He had been bled for a slight 
Indisposition; and as the bandages were loose in 
the night, he left his room to have it replaced by 
a surgeon who lived opposite. As he crossed 
the street, a party from a privateer carried him 
off, pressed him into their crew, and after seve¬ 
ral variations of fortune, he reached India, 
where he learned from the newspapers, that a 
large reward had been offered by his family, for 
information respecting him. 

This singular event will be found more fully 
detailed in the Annual Registers of about eighty 
years back. 


( 111 ) 


AN ALIBI. 


Among the numerous robbers and highway¬ 
men, who have graced the annals of Old Eng¬ 
land, and left a memorial, cere perennhis , in the 
pages of the Newgate Calendar, the Westons, 
twin brothers, may certainly take rank as thieves 
of the highest order. Their professional repu¬ 
tation may he inferior to that of Turpin, or Du 
Val, yet their depredations were equally exten¬ 
sive, and more successful; and they were re¬ 
markable for their repeated escapes from the 
iron hand of the law. Nor was their good for¬ 
tune confined to evasions from arrest, and un¬ 
looked-for acquittals when taken: both were con¬ 
demned more than once; and it is related, that 
one of them being unexpectedly pardoned at the 
gallow’s foot, purchased his own dying speech 
and confession before he left London. 

Like their births, their deaths occurred on the 



112 


Tales. 


same day; as they were hanged for robbing the 
mail several years previous. The affair had 
been completely forgotten, when an attempt to 
defraud a neighbour of some plate, led to an in¬ 
vestigation, by which they were identified, and 
ultimately convicted. That definitive settlement 
of their accounts with justice, would in all pro¬ 
bability have taken place much sooner, but for 
their ingenuity and perseverance in mutual 
aid. The following is an instance of their skill 
in contriving, and tact in executing their 
schemes. 

One of these worthy gemini , through an un¬ 
lucky combination of circumstances, was in 
Guildford gaol, awaiting his trial with the cer¬ 
tainty of conclusive and overwhelming evidence 
against him. Still he entertained no apprehen¬ 
sion as to the result: his brother was free, and 
their measures had been agreed on from the 
time that the prosecution was deemed certain. 

On the day of trial, a gentleman drove into 
Guildford in a splendid curricle, attended by 
servants in rich livery, and was received at the 
principal inn, with due consideration for his 
apparent quality. 

“Your town is unusually full—is it fair time?” 


I 


An Alibi. ] If> 

he inquired ol (he landlord, who obsequiously 
waited to receive his orders. 

44 T is our assizes, sir," replied Boniface, 
with a low bow. 

“ Assizes! this is unfortunate; for in that 
case, I can hardly expect (o find my friend D*** 
at home, as I dare say he is in the court.” 

44 Yes, sir, he is always there, with the other 
magistrates during the trials.” 

4 4 How provoking! then I suppose I must wait til 1 
the evening; tis vexatious to be detained so long.” 

44 If you would like to see the trials, it would 
pass away the time.” 

44 I don’t think I can do better; you can pro¬ 
cure me admittance, I imagine ?” 

44 Without the least difficulty.” 

After taking a sandwich, the gentleman pro¬ 
ceeded to the court-house, and obtained a front 
seat in the gallery. Nothing could seem more 
decidedly accidental than his appearance there : 
—he recognised his friend D***, but for divers 
good reasons, carefully avoided any interchange 
of looks, which might betray their previous 
acquaintance: — a contingency which he had 
provided against as much as possible, by means of 
false hair, and a disguised complexion. 


s 






114 


Tales . 


Soon after, the prisoner Weston was put to 
the bar : the ease was so clear, that the trial was 
quickly brought to that deeply interesting period 
when the judge calls on the accused for his de¬ 
fence. 

u My lord !” replied the prisoner calmly, u I 
can only say that I am unjustly accused. The 
consciousness of my innocence alone supports me 
under this misfortune. I am innocent, gentle¬ 
men of the jury! I am innocent—I was not in 
England when the affair was committed.” 

u Do you say you were abroad ?” observed 
the judge; u could you produce evidence to that 
effect ?” 

u Ah, my lord! if I could have done that, I 
should not have been committed ; but a poor 
man, without friends, cannot send abroad for 
witnesses. Gentlemen of the jury! take pity on 
my case, and condemn me not upon false testi¬ 
mony.” 

A most powerful feeling of sympathy was ex¬ 
cited on the prisoner’s behalf, as he looked round 
with a countenance expressive of despair. His 
defence was concluded, for he had nothing more 
to offer; and the judge began to sum up the evi¬ 
dence. 


An Alibi. 


1 15 

“ My lord! my lord!” suddenly exclaimed 
the prisoner with great energy : — “ there is a 
gentleman in the gallery who can prove I was 
at Boulogne at the time — that gentleman — 
there! —” 

“ To what gentleman do you allude ?” said the 
judge.—The prisoner, with earnestness, desig¬ 
nated his brother. 

“ Do you know the prisoner at the bar ?” was 
then asked of the stranger, who affected great 
surprise at being thus called upon; and replied 
with an indifference almost amounting to care¬ 
lessness — u Indeed, my lord, I do not think I 
have ever seen him before.” 

u You see, prisoner, the gentleman does not 
know you.” 

u Pray, my lord, let hifn be sworn. I am 
sure it is the same—I carried a portmanteau for 
him from an hotel in Boulogne to the packet.” 

Here the stranger observed, u He may be right, 
after all; for I was at Boulogne about two months 
since.” 

“ Let the witness be sworn;” after which he 
was ordered to declare what he recollected of the 
circumstance.—It was not at all surprising, he 



116 


Tales . 


stated, that he could not call to mind the features 
of a person who had merely carried his port¬ 
manteau a few hundred yards; and in fact, he 
could not say whether the prisoner was or was 
not the man he employed : — u But this, my 
lord,” he added with a serious air, u I distinctly 
remember; while the portmanteau was being 
lowered into the packet, something from the quay 
knocked olf the porter s hat, and my attention 
was drawn to a deep scar on the back of his 
head.” 

“ T is me! my lord, t is me ! see, gentlemen 
of the jury, here is the scar!” and removing a 
scratch wig, he exhibited an unanswerable proof 
before the court. 

The judge, pleased with the happy discovery 
of the prisoner’s innocence, then interposed : 
his fine deep voice was heard with general satis¬ 
faction, as he declared : “ Gentlemen of the 
jury, the alibi is clear; the prisoner must be 
acquitted.” 

The u gentleman from Boulogne” pretended 
urgent business, and left Guildford without 
staying to see his friend He would not 

even wait for dinner, lest that person should 


An Alibi . 


m 


favour him with a call. To become personally 
known to a magistrate would not only have spoiled 
the alibi, so fortunately proved; but might, in 
addition, have rendered some other stratagem 
necessary for extricating himself. 




( H8 ) 


,S d > » < 


AN EXCHANGE. 


It is now about forty years since the mem- 

V * 

bers of the Stock Exchange and the habitues of 
“ the Alley” were accustomed to amuse the lei¬ 
sure moments of their slack days with practical 
jokes of the facetious Mr. L***. At that pe¬ 
riod, the days of calm, alike injurious to Bulls 
and Bears, were constantly enlivened by his fer¬ 
tile genius; and instead of the modern improve¬ 
ment, by which our ingenuity is tortured for the 
invention of political or financial wonders, he 
could always contribute something to excite the 
merriment of his companions, either by a speci¬ 
men of waggery at the expense of some simple¬ 
ton, or in affording materials for jocularity by 
his frequent amusing adventures. 

The red-letter days, the delight of Bank- 
clerks and brokers, were then much more nu- 



119 


An E xchange. 

merous than in our time (now, alas! the un¬ 
sparing rage for innovation has abolished them 
altogether); and Mr. L***, ever fond of rusti- 
eating on such occasions, was sure to enliven 
his holiday with some laughable incident. The 
following is one among many, preserved by tra¬ 
dition among the elders of Capel-court. 

Accompanied by a friend, Mr. L*** pro¬ 
ceeded in a gig to pass a hot summer s day at 
Shorer’s delightful fishing-house on the river 
Lea, called the “Noah’s Ark,” and not far from 
Chingford.—Like Cowper’s renowned hero, he 
passed through “far-famed Edmonton;” but 
thus much he differed from good Johnny Gilpin 
— he halted there, both going and returning, to 
repose his nag and discuss a glass of ale at a 
humble public-house; for such he always se¬ 
lected, as affording a wider field for his mirth¬ 
ful observations, and imposing less restraint 
upon his habits. 

The sun was fast disappearing when he reach¬ 
ed the place on his return. Instead of perceiv¬ 
ing, as usual, a few straggling labourers waiting 
about the door, or some post-boys drinking on 
the outside benches, the house was surrounded 
by a dense crowd : many pushing and elbowing 


Tales. 


120 

to gain admittance to the place, raised within a 
few hours from obscurity to an unexampled de¬ 
gree of attraction; and all eagerly discussing the 
probabilities of the wonder related. 

Curiosity, however ardent, does not render a 
mob insensible to the inconvenience of being 
run over or trodden upon ; and the approach of 
the gig, added to a little restiveness in the horse 
which was rather frightened, caused the by¬ 
standers to make an opening, through which 
Mr. L*** and his friend approached the door. 

u Holloa, landlord ! what’s all this about ? has 
any thing unusual happened?” 

The landlord, who knew Mr. L*** from his 
frequent visits as he passed down that road, 
drew near and stated with a sad countenance: 
u Oh, sir! ’tis the most wonder‘fullest thing as 
you’ve ever heard of in all the world. Never 
did l meet the like, all my born days—you’ll 
hardly believe it. Walk in, sir; pray walk in, 
and you’ll see.” 

Mr. L*** and his friend alighted; and the 
landlord ushered them into a little back parlour, 
where, on the table, lay a fine leg of pork. 

“ There, sir! if that be not pork, I’m not. a 
living man.” 


An Exchange. 121 

u Pork ! certainly it is; who can be so simple 
as to doubt it ? And I am very glad to see it, 
for we are hungry after our ride : so if you will 
bring some of your best ale, my friend and I will 
taste it.” 

“ Oh, sir! pray don’t attempt to touch it— 
Heaven only knows what will happen. ’Tis 
magic and mystery, sir!” 

u Well, I shall try it—it looks uncommonly 

“ Aye, aye! it may look so—but it must he 
queer fed meat; for when 1 bought it, twas mut¬ 
ton ; and our maid there, Nance, declares it was 
mutton when she put it into the pot;—and the 
butcher—but he’s here, I’ll call him in.” With 
that he opened the door and called out — 
“ Mr. Sticker! step in here for a minute, if you 
please.” 

In walked the butcher, as full of self-import¬ 
ance as a butcher could be: his apron tucked in 
round his waist; and freed, for the time, from 
the appendage of his steel. Doffing his hat to 
Mr. L***, whom he took for some official per¬ 
sonage, he began to show how conspicuous a 
part he had to perform in the business. 

u You must know, sir, that although that 




Tales. 


4 9 ‘) 

I ^ ^ 

meat is well salted, I killed the sheep as how it 
came from, only the day before yesterday.” 

Mr. L*** looked at his friend and smiled; 
the butcher was indignant at the implied doubt, 
and continued : 

“I am ready to go before our justice o’ the 
peace—aye, and before the quarter sessions too, 
and take my oath, that it was a leg of mutton, 
and sold to my neighbour here; and what’s more, 
I’ll swear that I’ve not had a hit of pork in my 
shop, since I supplied Mr. Shadrac’s family, and 
that’s three years, come next month. 

“ I’ll swear it was mutton you sent me,” said 
the landlord. 

“ Then I’m clear of the magical part of the 
business,” replied the butcher; ‘‘only I must 
say, it would be a hard case if I should lose Mr. 

•j ' 

Shadrac’s custom by it.” 

Mr. L*** and his friend meanwhile had seat¬ 
ed themselves, and partook of the astounding 
joint, unmoved by the apprehensions and en¬ 
treaties of the landlord and his wife. 

“If the gentleman will expose himself, we 
cannot help it,” replied the latter as she walked 
off to the bar, where an unusual demand for li¬ 
quor required her presence. 


123 


An Exchange. 

The butcher again alluded to the injury he 
would have sustained, if the fatal leg of mutton 
had been sent to Mr. Shadracs; and he secretly 
wished that something awful might arise out of 
such presumption ; for a decided proof of magic 
would more completely clear him. He left the 
room grumbling; and the maid-servant, being 
confident that superhuman means had been 
used to produce such a change, declared, as she 
went out of the parlour, u that she coidd not 
stay to see a gentleman carried away by magic.” 

The repast was soon finished, and the landlord 
summoned, while the gaping crowd stood out¬ 
side, struck with wonder, and fully expecting 
some catastrophe. “ Your leg of pork is excel¬ 
lent,” observed Mr. L***; the landlord shook 
his head sorrowfully, but made no reply. 

‘‘ Shut the door,” resumed the visitor, u while 
I explain this mysterious change, as you think it; 
for I should be sorry to prevent your making a 
good supper off this joint, since you would not 
touch it at dinner.—Your servant put the leg of 
mutton into the pot, while my friend and I were 
taking a glass of ale this morning. We had a 
leg of pork in the gig ; for as there’s nothing 
good to be had at Sliorer’s, we took our dinner 



124 


Tales. 


with us. We made the exchange without the 

least difficulty ; your leg of mutton proved very 

\ 

good, and I am happy to find the pork is equally 
so. You now understand how it has happened. 
Keep the secret for your own sake, and tell me 
what I have to pay.” 

“Pay, sir! not a farthing—you are the best 
customer that ever came into my house. I have 
not sold so much liquor for years before.” 









( 125 ) 


RURAL FELICITY. 

A Sketch. 


All happiness is relative; and the unsophisti¬ 
cated pleasure of the peasant, if closely examined, 
may be found to produce more reality of enjoy¬ 
ment than the pursuits of the refined exquisite, 
the polite gamester, or the fashionable blase —but 
a truce to didactics—let us proceed at once with 
our story. 

Some years back, before farmers had acquired 
a habit of apeing gentility, the joskins of a village 
in the west of England were reposing after the 
labours of the day, in that delicious hour— 

When fades the glimmering landscape from the sight. 

And all the air a solemn stillness holds: 

We must, however, except the occasional rat¬ 
tling of skittles, which at short intervals pro¬ 
claimed the employment or enjoyment (call it 
which you please) of the sturdier sons of the 



126 


Tales. 


glebe. Anon was also heard the heavy tread of a 
tired horse, led back to his stable from the muddy 
pond; and the discordant notes of a life an¬ 
nounced the humble style in which some youth¬ 
ful rustic was cultivating his dawning taste for 
music, seated on the church-yard gate. 

Presently a middle-aged yeoman was discovered 
advancing. His shaggy-coated horse had that 
day exchanged the toils of the plough for the 
burden of the saddle and pillion ; and the docile 
beast quickened his pace as he entered the ham¬ 
let, from the satisfaction of approaching his jour¬ 
ney’s end. The rider was asleep; he had at¬ 
tended a distant market, and the transactions of 
the day proving advantageous, he had indulged 
in an extra glass, ere he homeward bent his way. 
His profits were realised and he was happy. 

u Well, measter ! where be missus?” was vo¬ 
ciferated by the wondering matrons. A group 
was quickly formed, and farmer Thick in amaze¬ 
ment stared at the vacant seat behind him: while 
twenty voices reiterated the inquiry —“ Measter 
Thick! what a’ ye done wi’ missus?” 

u Whoy! ba’n’t shebehaind?”— u No! zure!” 

V 

u Then she be valed off.—Do ye just look for 
her a bit along the road, wool ye?” 









Rural Felicity. 127 

Curiosity as well as good nature made the vil¬ 
lagers comply with this request; and, at some 
distance, dame Thick was discovered, fast asleep, 
with her feet in a ditch by the road-side. 

“ Whoy! what b’yeat here, missus ?” said the 
foremost of the party, as he gently shook her 
shoulder. A long yawn, which facilitated the 
escape of a powerful odour of gin and heer, was 
the immediate consequence. The address was 
repeated, which made the worthy woman rub her 
eyes; hut the inclination for repose was too pow¬ 
erful — she turned over, and again composed 
herself to sleep, observing—“ Do ye just put a 
little more clothes over the feet, wool ye ! vor it 
he deadly coaid.” 

header! would the conclusion of a splendid 
ball find a coquette in such a state of equani¬ 
mity? 



( 128 ) 


✓ 


A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS. 


A tradesman of Glasgow, who had repeatedly 
written to a nobleman respecting his account, at 
length lost all patience, and decided on making 
a journey into the “ far north,” to claim a set¬ 
tlement of his long-standing demand. On reach¬ 
ing the venerable castle, which had for centu¬ 
ries been the residence of the noble family, he 
beheld with satisfaction the numerous train of 
domestics and retainers. “Ah!” said he, “the 
laird is a man of princely habits, and will not 
expose himself to the remarks of his menials, by 
refusing to settle my trifling demand: I must 
explain my business to himself, or his dignity 
may be wounded.” 

Notwithstanding his care to conceal the na¬ 
ture of his errand, his first inquiry was met by 
the information that the laird was out hunting, 
and might not return for several days. How- 


/ 



129 


A New Way to pay Old Debts. 

ever, after travelling so far, the persevering 
tradesman resolved to wait patiently for his 
debtor, and the servants omitted nothing to jus¬ 
tify their master’s reputation for hospitality: the 
dun was regaled with a splendid supper, and a 
comfortable bed was provided for his accommo¬ 
dation. 

Although he had assumed the air of a friendly 
visitor, his real object was guessed, and the de¬ 
ception was mutually carried on. He passed 
the evening delighted with his good quarters, 
and no less pleased with the probable success of 
his scheme. He indulged in an extra glass of 
whiskey punch, and retired to rest with the full 
assurance that his motive was unsuspected, and 
that he should be ready to assert his claim on the 
laird’s return. 

In the morning he regarded with complacency 
the view from his window, when suddenly he 
was horrified by the sight of a man hanging to 
a tree in the garden. He rang the hell with ve¬ 
hemence, and urged immediate attention to the 
circumstance, preparing to descend, that he 
might probably be in time to save the life of a 
fellow-creature. 


9 





130 


Tales. 


“See! see!” said he, with amazement, “some 
unhappy soul has attempted suicide; if we cut 
him down at once, life may not be quite extinct.” 

“ Ye need na bestir yoursel, gude man !” re¬ 
plied the servant who appeared in consequence 
of his summons—“You’ll do na gude by med- 
dlin.” 

“What! would you refuse to prevent his 
rash design ?” 

“You have gi en it the proper name —it was 
a rash design indeed,” replied the man, who 
had suspended a stuffed suit of clothes to a tree. 

“ You treat this dreadful business so lightly, 
that you may have to answer for the poor man’s 
life.” The dun assumed a most serious air as 
he spoke, and would probably have continued 
his lecture on the duty of every one to endea¬ 
vour to prevent suicide—but he was interrupted. 

“ Ya dinna ken the matter at a’; but as you 
are a friend of his lairdship, I’ll tell you in con¬ 
fidence what it is. The unlucky jontleman hang¬ 
ing yonder is a busy lawyer sent to teaze our 
laird for money; and we get rid of such vexatious 
visitors in that way—it is a sure method of set¬ 
tling accounts.” 







131 


A Neic Way to pay Old Debts. 

A perceptible change instantly arose in the 
tradesman’s countenance. He abandoned his 
resolution to await his debtor; and, as he home¬ 
ward bent his way, congratulated himself upon 
the laird’s absence, which had spared him the 
chance of a similar termination to his career. 




( 132 ) 


THE LEGACY. 


In the secluded village of which, it is su¬ 
perfluous to remind our readers, stands on the 
hanks of the picturesque and meandering river 
***, resided a quondam tradesman, metamor¬ 
phosed into a country gentleman, who had ex- 

* 

changed the bustle of London for the sentimental 
occupation of trout-fishing, and other species of 
rustic delights. 

Among the numerous comforts that solaced 
his otium cum dig ., he reckoned, as not the least 
important, the society of a buxom wife, whose 
youthful figure gave her attentions a filial rather 
than a conjugal appearance. She was in one sense 
very pious, as she looked for her reward after 
death, that is, her husband’s death ; and in con¬ 
senting to the marriage, she had doubtless been 
influenced by that couplet of maternal advice, 













The Legacy. 133 

contained in a once famous, but now forgotten 
ballad : 

Refuse not, dear daughter, to wed an old man. 

His brass will be useful to make a new pan. 

However, notwithstanding the connubial har¬ 
mony of this couple, the wife entertained strong 
suspicions, that in her husband s testamentary 
arrangements, she was but scantily apportioned. 
Female vigilance, when interested, is notoriously 
indefatigable; and she succeeded in ascertaining 
the limited amount of her future jointure. 

From that time she watched her husband with 
unremitting care; and when at length his soul 
took flight, she concealed the event, and sum¬ 
moned to her aid a neighbour, in whom she 
placed unbounded confidence, and on whom she 
had formerly bestowed the innocent affection of 
her childhood : indeed, without the rivalry of 
her richer suitor, this individual was to have 
possessed her hand. 

This personage, Joseph by name, and a 
barber by trade, was breathlessly accosted on 
his appearance : u My dear Joe! 1 am glad' 
you’re come; you must tell me what to do.” 

Joseph, who had supposed he was summoned 
professionally, had brought his apparatus, and 


134 


Tales . 


was preparing, as usual, to trim the old gentle¬ 
man’s beard. He stood, astonished at her address 
as she continued : — “ My husband is dead. 

The cruel man has left me no more than forty 

* 

pounds a year, and that is to be forfeited, if 1 
marry again; so, you must help me, Joe. Can 
you do any thing ? ” 

“ Certainly,” replied the barber, “ if his death 
is not known.” 

“Not a soul is aware of it.” 

“Then conceal the body while I take his place, 
and send for the lawyer to make another will.” 

The lawyer was speedily summoned : he en¬ 
tered the chamber with gentle steps, and looked 
tenderly on the afflicted lady, who had already 
been considered an excellent match in futuro, by 
more than one of her neighbours. 

“ Take care, sir,” said the weeping dame, 
c 4 he has just fallen asleep. I was terribly alarmed 
when his last paroxysm took place; but after he 
has slept a little, he will he better able to speak.” 
The complaisant attorney, who had some time 
before buried his own wife, gently squeezed her 
hand ; the hint was understood, and his good 
wishes appeared certain. 

“Oh! oh! oh! I cannot die in peace; 1 have 




The Legacy. 135 

been un-ge-ne-rous—to—the—best—of—wives 
—ob! ” 

“ Think no more, my dear, of what is past. 
Here is Mr. ***; he is ready to take your instruc¬ 
tions.”—And then she tenderly wiped his brow, 
taking care to pull his nightcap low enough to 
conceal the barber’s features. 

“ De-stroy—my—will—oh! oh!” 
u It is in the fire, sir; make your mind easy.” 
“ And—the—draft—al-so.” 
u Yes, sir,” replied the lawyer, throwing that 
likewise into the flames. 

“ Now—my—mind—is — more—tran-quil: 
—write—down—as—I—direct. ’ ’ 

u The same preamble as before, I presume?” 
inquired the lawyer. 

u Just the same—only I must provide better 
for my dear wife, oh! oh! She shall have all, 
except some trifling legacies.” 

The lawyer looked complacently upon the lady, 
and wrote down some directions concerning the 
funeral, etc., while Joseph moaned and breathed 
hard. After detailing a few small bequests to the 
vicar, the doctor, and certain neighbours, whom 
it was politic to render interested, the testator 
proceeded: “ Then I give and bequeath unto 


136 


Tales . 


Joseph- ; he is a good, honest fellow, and 

has been always attentive and careful in shaving 
me — I leave him the sum of five hundred 

u Is not that too much, my dear?” interrupted 
the wife, sobbing loudly. 

u Hold your tongue — I will not be dictated 
to. If you say another word, I will give him a 
thousand.” 

Xantippe herself would have been tame under 
such circumstances: the wife submitted quietly; 
the testator’s generosity was loudly praised by 
all; and Joe the barber, as will be readily sup¬ 
posed, was not backward in claiming his legacy 
from the executors. 













C 137 ) 


3tn Qrssaj> 

ON 

THE CELTS AND GAULS. 


The generic term Celt being usually attributed 
to the people who, in remote ages, inhabited 
Gaul, Spain, and the British islands, an idea pre¬ 
vails that, until the Romans extended their con¬ 
quests, and thus brought those countries within 
the sphere of civilization, their various tribes 
bore the characteristics of a common race. We 
almost instinctively consider that the dialects now 
used by the Welch, Irish, Highlanders, Bretons, 
etc., are all derived from the primitive Celtic 
language; and that the druids of Britain and 
Gaul practised the same rites, and taught the 
same notions. But we have little or no means 
of ascertaining the condition of the Celts; and 
while some antiquarians maintain that the origi¬ 
nal inhabitants of the above countries, but parti- 








138 


Essays. 

cularly the Gauls, had made a considerable pro¬ 
gress in the useful arts, others contend (hat, until 
the Romans settled amonp them, they were not 
more advanced than the American Indians. 

The advocates of the latter hypothesis call for 
the traces of organized society; and argue, that 
as the Celts have left neither national history nor 
monuments—not even any medals or implements 
to attest their knowledge of metals — they must be 
considered as ignorant and barbarous tribes. To 
support that opinion, they deny the antiquity of 
ruins, said to be Celtic; the medals so styled they 
attribute to Greeks settled at Marseilles ; while 
they assume the absence of learning and letters 
from the silence of the Romans, who would assur¬ 
edly have referred to Celtic chronologists and 
poets, had any existed. The few Celts who, by 
the tuition of their more polished neighbours, 
were enabled to write Latin, rather establish the 
want of native literature, for among the most 
barbarous nations there are to he found indivi¬ 
duals, endowed with sufficient natural under¬ 
standing, to benefit by instruction, whenever 
they happen to come within its range. 

Full many a gem of purest ray serene, 

The dark, unfathom’d caves of ocean bear : 
















On the Cells and Gauls. 139 

And, if none of them were induced to write in 
Celtic, it is best accounted for, by supposing the 
few learned Celts to have been aware that none 
ol their countrymen could read their compo¬ 
sitions. 

There is some weight in that argument, hut it 
must not be overlooked that authors, in all 
countries, are generally inclined to write on sub¬ 
jects and in the style most likely to obtain the 
approbation of the great and influential. The 
Romans always discouraged sentiments of nation¬ 
ality among the people and tribes they vanquish¬ 
ed; and the supremacy of Rome was carried out 
to its extreme consequences, in every point of 
view. No encouragement could therefore be 
expected for Celtic literature. 

Many who now inquire into antiquity, apply 
their investigations more in the hope of over¬ 
turning some popular hypothesis, than with a 
view of eliciting information: they endeavour to 
raise a doubt, and then pride themselves on their 
superiority over those “ who are ready to believe 
any thing.’' The exertions of a diligent and 
conscientious antiquarian are therefore of great 
value lo the republic of letters. And such indi¬ 
viduals are occasionally found among gentlemen 


140 Essays. 

of rank or fortune, whose inclination leads them 
to literary inquiry, and whose circumstances 
place them in a condition to disregard the popu¬ 
lar taste, or the tyranny of publishers, which is 
almost invariably a mere reverberation of fashion¬ 
able caprice. 

The marquis de Fortia, a most indefatigable 
and zealous antiquarian, and a warm advocate of 
Celtic civilization, has inserted an essay on the 
subject, in the fifth volume of les Annales du Hai- 
naultj composed by Jacques de Guyse, a monk of 
Valenciennes, whose chronicle is now published 
for the first time with a French translation. It 
will not be here attempted to notice all the rea¬ 
sonings of the erudite marquis on this topic, but 
an outline of his principal arguments presents a 
considerable degree of interest for all who disco¬ 
ver any attraction in this subject. He does not 
disguise the great difficulty that arises, in the 
search for positive information respecting the 
nations of antiquity—even among those which 
have bequeathed memorials for our guidance. 

“The Egyptians,” he remarks, “with their 
hieroglyphics and their pyramids, have not suc¬ 
ceeded in transmitting to us the ideas which 
those pyramids and hieroglyphics were intended 















On the Celts and Gauls. 


] 41 


to preserve. The language known under the 
name ol the Sanscrit has come down to us : ma¬ 
nuscripts have perpetuated works in it—we have 
succeeded in translating them; but we do not 
know who spoke the Sanscrit.”—(P. 387.) 

Repeated revolutions destroy the memorials of 
nations, and render tradition extremely obscure; 
and France has experienced many, both physical 
and political. For the former, it will suffice to 
refer to the volcanic remains in Auvergne, or the 
fossil specimens found in the Touraine and at 
Montmartre. For the latter, we need only al¬ 
lude to the successive subjugations of the coun¬ 
try by the Romans and Franks; the substitution 
of the Carlovingian kings for those of the Mero¬ 
vingian race; of the Capetian dynasty for the 
Carlovingian ; and the feudal troubles in the 
middle ages. During the religious wars in the 
sixteenth, and the democratic hurricane at the 
close of the eighteenth centuries, the violence of 
the convulsion was directed more against institu¬ 
tions than records, which were preserved by the 
invention of printing ; but from what is per¬ 
ceptible of its effects even in those cases, some 
inference may be formed of the wide-spread de¬ 
vastation and destruction which occurred in 





142 Essays. 

more barbarous times, in attempting to destroy 
all vestige of a previous domination. 

M. de Fortia maintains the following posi¬ 
tions : 

1. That there are monuments of Celtic ori¬ 
gin still extant; 

2. That there was a Celtic language and lite¬ 
rature ; 

3. That the Celts cultivated the arts ; 

4. That their retrogradation resulted from 
the loss of liberty. 

Firstly. Among the monuments of Celtic ori¬ 
gin are a druidical temple at Autun, and trium¬ 
phal arches at Orange, Carpentras, and Cavail- 
lon, built by the Gauls one hundred and twenty 
years before the Christian era. See /’ Introduc¬ 
tion a Vhistoire d'Avignon, p. 114, and VArt de 
verifier les dates avant J. C ., vol. Y, pp. 233 and 
279. In addition, Ammianus Marcellinus re¬ 
lates a legend of Hercules, which was engraved on 
their monuments, lib. 15, ch. 9. 

Secondly. Piespecting the Celtic tongue, we 
learn from Varro, that three languages were in 
use at Marseilles— Greece loquuntur , et Latine et 
Gallice. Varro’s testimony is appealed to by 
Isidore, bishop of Seville in 601, whose work, 


On the Celts and Gauls. « 143 

entitled Liber originum , is to be found in Auctores 
linguoe latince, Geneva, 1622. It appears from 
that author, who had access to books which have 
not come down to us, that the Greeks settled at 
Marseilles when Cyrus seized upon their mari¬ 
time towns. They introduced the use of their 
alphabet; but it is also maintained that the Phoe¬ 
nicians and Carthaginians had previously settled 
there, and established the use of their language. 
Caesar (de Bello Gallico , lib. 6, c. 14) enters into 
some detail respecting the Druids, and in allu¬ 
sion to what their pupils learned by heart, he 
observes it was because they did not consider it 
necessary to commit these things to writing, for 
on almost all other occasions , they used the Greek 
characters. That writing was known among 
them is therefore beyond doubt; and as a proof 
that such knowledge was not confined to the 
neighbourhood of Marseilles, it is stated in the 
paragraph immediately preceding, that the head¬ 
quarters of the Druids was in a consecrated 
grove, in finibus Carnutum (the neighbourhood of 
Chartres); to which place controversies and dis¬ 
putes were taken from all parts for judgment. 

According to Mabillon ( de re diplomatica , lib.1, 
c. 8), (hey used papyrus, which they obtained 


144 


Essays. 

from the Egyptians; and some specimens are 
said to have been preserved in old churches and 
abbeys. But these testimonies are far from suf¬ 
ficient to guide us in defining the Celtic language, 
or to show which of its descendant dialects has 
best preserved a resemblance to its origin. Cae¬ 
sar mentions the several languages used in Gaul : 
the variations of patois may, however, have been 
very marked without a decided difference of lan¬ 
guage, and as there has been discovered a great 
affinity between the Basque and Irish tongues, 
both of which have been brought forward to 
explain some Punic passages in the Pcenulus of 
Plautus, it may be fairly presumed that they are, 
in common with the dialects spoken by interme¬ 
diate tribes, variations of the parent Celtic. 

Still the use of a language is no proof of the 
existence of literature. We have, however, 
Justin’s abridgment of Trogus Pompeius, a na¬ 
tive of Vaison, in the Vaucluse, who died some 
years before our era. From what Justin has 
preserved of his history, it is evident that he 
possessed information not to be obtained from 
any Greek or Latin author ; and which it may 
therefore be fairly supposed was derived from 
the annals of the country. Caesar and Pompo- 


On the Celts and Gauls. 145 

nius Mela inform us that the Druids had written 
on astronomy; and Posidonius is referred to on 
Celtic history in the Deipnosophistorum of Athe- 
neeus, a natural philosopher, contemporary with 
Marcus Aurelius and his successor. Posidonius 
is likewise mentioned by Strabo, as an authority 
for particulars respecting the Celts; and Cle¬ 
ment of Alexandria asserts that Pythagoras was 
instructed by the Gauls, from whom he received 
the doctrine of the Metempsychosis. 

Thirdly. What degree of proficiency the Celts 
had attained in the arts is also covered with an 
impenetrable veil; but it is evident that archi¬ 
tecture was known and studied among them. 
Diodorus Siculus (lib. 5) mentions their temples; 
Strabo (lib. 4) alludes to one at Toulouse, which 
was held in great veneration, and respecting 
which he gives a long extract from Posidonius, 
relating a circumstance which shows they were 
not unaccustomed to splendour; it is to this ef¬ 
fect ; —Lovernios, king of Auvergne (B. C. 50), 
frequently rode through his dominions in a 
magnificent chariot, and distributed gold and 
silver coins (wpuj[j.oc) among the people. This 
incidental evidence, to which may be added the 

existence of Celtic medals, affords testimony 

10 


146 Essays. 

sufficient to remove all doubt as to their know¬ 
ledge of metallurgy. 

Fourthly. The decay of Celtic civilization soon 
followed the Roman conquest, in the same man¬ 
ner as the invasion of the Franks speedily de¬ 
stroyed that familiarity with science and letters, 
which had become habitual to the Gauls from 
their intercourse with Rome. Other nations 
have experienced similar changes. The neigh¬ 
bourhood of Tunis bears no trace of the splen¬ 
dour of Carthage, and the countries now bruta¬ 
lized under the Mahometan yoke, were at one 
period as far advanced in arts and sciences as 
any part of the then known world. 

Having analysed the four propositions ad¬ 
vanced by M. de Fortia, it must be mentioned 
that his antiquarian zeal carries him to very 
great lengths, and induces him to suppose that 
in the most ancient times a degree of advance¬ 
ment was attained, from which mankind in ge¬ 
neral have since declined—a theory which will 
certainly not find favour with the admirers of 
modern superiority. A similar sentiment has 
been frequently advanced by other writers, who 
have instituted comparisons between the speci¬ 
mens found at Herculaneum and Pompeii, and 


On the Celts and Gauls. 


147 


I he manufactures of the present day. u The 

Sanscrit,” he observes, u is superior to the 

* 

Greek, the Greek to the Latin, and that to our 
modern jargons. Homer, Demosthenes, Hero¬ 
dotus, and Archimedes were not equalled at 
Rome; Cicero, Virgil, Pliny, and Seneca have 
not had among us any rival, really worthy of 
them. It is by admiring Euripides and Sopho¬ 
cles, that Racine has succeeded in placing him¬ 
self beside them; and Euclid has never had a 
more zealous partisan than Newton.” (Dis¬ 
cours sur les annales de Ilainault , § 7.) 

It was stated at the commencement of this 
essay, that a diversity of opinion existed respect¬ 
ing the erudition of the Celts; and the hypothe¬ 
sis now briefly developed has been, and doubtless 
will continue to be the subject of argumentative 
criticism. Still without aspiring to the preten¬ 
sion of establishing any positive conclusion, the 
inquiry presents sufficient attraction to engage 
a further examination, principally with the 
humble hope of assisting others in the interest¬ 
ing search. With that view, the writer consi¬ 
ders a correct definition of the terms Celt and 
Gaul as very essential, and therefore claiming 
investigation. 




148 Essays. 

Caesar and Ammianus Marcellinus both state 
that Gaul extended from the Pyrenees to the 
Rhine, and contained three divisions of people. 
Caesar s Commentaries are deservedly considered 
high authority; for in addition to his extensive 
means of observation, he was accompanied by 
Trogus Pompeius, as secretary. His opening 
passage is well known:—“All Gaul is divided 
into three parts : one of which the Belgians in¬ 
habit ; another, the Aquitani; and the third, 
those who are called in their own language Celts, 
in ours, Gauls. All these differ from each other 
in language, customs, and laws. The river 
Garonne separates the Gauls from the Aquitani; 
the Marne and the Seine divide them from the 
Belgians.” 

Gallia was, however, the name given to the 
whole extent of territory ; and the Bretons whose 
Celtic origin is indisputable, were comprised by 
Caesar’s delimitation among the Gauls, as distin¬ 
guished from the Belgians and Aquitani. On this 
account, as well as from a passage in Ammianus, 
it is to be inferred that Celt and Gaul were syno- 
nimous : it is even probable that the latter term 
was a corruption of the former. 

The following is from the pen of Ammianus:— 






On the Celts and Gauls. 149 

u Ancient authors, in doubt respecting the ori¬ 
gin of the Gauls, have in consequence left us but 
an imperfect account of them; hut Timagenes 
a Greek, with the talent for which his nation is 
renowned, has drawn from divers records many 
things long unknown. * * * * * * Some have as¬ 
serted that the first people discovered in this 
country, were the aborigines, called Celts , frbm 
the name of their first king; and Galates (for so 
the Greeks style the Gauls) from Galata his mo¬ 
ther.'’ Lib. xv, c. 9. Upon this it may he 
observed, that as the Greek alphabet contains no 
c, the transition from K elzoc, to Talaroq is not very 
great — certainly less than the alteration from 
Xvpog to Cyrus. 

The reputed fair complexions of the ancient 
Gauls has, it is well known, given rise to an ety¬ 
mological derivation from yaka; but we shall not 
attempt either to verify that hypothesis, or to 
inquire into the existence of the fabled Galata. 
There is a passage in Diodorus Siculus, which 
does not, it is true, touch upon the origin of the 
word ; but it is so much at variance with the 
above-mentioned authors, that it shows the in¬ 
utility of tracing the etymology, since there is 
such impenetrable doubt as to its application. 


150 


Essays. 

u Those people are called Celts, who dwell 
above Marseilles, between the Alps and the Py- 
renees; hut they who live in the north of Celtia, 
on the borders of the ocean and the Hercinian 
forest, as far as the confines of Scythia, are called 
Galates: notwithstanding, the Romans give this 

name both to the real Galates and to the Celts.” 

« ~ ,*‘ J 

( Diodori , Bib. hist, v, 32, quoted by Portia, 
p. 407.) 

Thus the Aquitani were Celts according to that 
historian, who lived during the reign of Augus¬ 
tus ; and the difference between his account and 
Caesar’s renders it almost hopeless to decide cor¬ 
rectly at this distance of time, on a subject re¬ 
presented variously by contemporaries. To sup¬ 
pose the terms synonimous is the only way of 
escaping the dilemma. 

Caesar also classes the Helvetii among the Gauls. 
Helvetii quoque reliquos Gallos virtule prcecedunt. 
The Ligurians and their neighbours were called 
Cisalpine Gauls; the Highlanders still call them¬ 
selves Gael; Wales is rendered Galles in modern 
French; Spain and Austria have each a province 
named Gallicia; and Galatia was founded by a 
body of emigrants under Brennus, B. C. 279. 

Among the ancients the term Celt is not unfre- 




On the Celts and Gauls . 151 

quently used : according to Srabo, u the Greeks 
called every people situated towards the north 
Scythians, or, as Homer says, Wanderers; subse¬ 
quently becoming more acquainted with western 
countries, they began to designate tlie inhabi¬ 
tants by the name of Celts, Celtiberians, or Celto- 
Scythians, their ignorance causing them to give 
one appellation to several different nations.” 
Strabo, lib. i, as quoted in the Antiquites de Vau- 
cluse , p. 406. 

Strabo himself sometimes uses the word Celt 
in mentioning the Gauls—even those denomi¬ 
nated Allobroges by Livy: an example is to be 
found in the first chapter of his fourth book, 
where he describes a victory gained by C. Domi- 
tius iEnobarbus, at the confluence of the Sorgues 
and the Rhone : onov Fvatog IFivofiapfioc, geyoclri 
paxY) rioMas ezpa^aro xsIzgm [xvpiadag. 

Lucan and Martial, both natives of Spain, sup¬ 
posed the Celtiberians were descended from the 
Celts of Gaul, as appears from the following pas¬ 
sages : 

Profugique a gente vetusta 
Gallorum Celt® miscentes nomen Iberi. 

Phar satin, lib. iv, v, 9. 

Nos Celtis geniti, ct ex Ibcris. 

Martial , lib iv. Kpij. 55. 


\ 52 


Essays. 

In these lines, there is nothing which mili¬ 
tates against the assumed identity of the Celts 
and Gauls; and admitting the Celtic race to 
have peopled all western Europe, the varieties 
of their language are accounted for without dif¬ 
ficulty; because among the early inhabitants of 
a country not endowed with the means of orga¬ 
nising its language, new idioms and dialects 
must necessarily arise. In remote times, a ra¬ 
pid river, a range of mountains, or other na¬ 
tural barrier, precluded communication, and 
led to new systems of phraseology and pronun¬ 
ciation. 

The Basques inhabit a very mountainous re¬ 
gion, and the difference is more marked in their 
dialect in consequence ; so much so, that the 
late Mr. Klaproth maintained the superior anti¬ 
quity of their language, and as existing even be¬ 
fore the arrival of the Asiatic Scythians, who, 
according to his system, were the first settlers 
in Europe. His deep philological researches 
claim deferential respect; yet, without presum¬ 
ing to controvert his views, it may be advanced 
with some confidence, that either the Basque is 
the nearest approach to the original Celtic, or 


On the Cells and Gauls. 


153 


its most decided corruption; because the differ¬ 
ence it displays when compared with the other 
dialects which rank as Celtic, has induced more 
than one investigator to pronounce them quite 
distinct and unconnected. 


( 154 ) 


ON THE COLUMNS OF SETH. 


Whether letters were or were not known to 
the antediluvians, is a question which has been 
so often and so ably argued, that there may ap¬ 
pear some presumption in attempting to renew 
discussion on that interesting inquiry. It is not 
however intended, in this essay, to raise any 
new hypothesis in opposition to received theo¬ 
ries; its object being exclusively directed to the 
explanation of a passage in Josephus, by which 
Seth is represented as having described his dis¬ 
coveries on columns, “ of which,” adds the Jew¬ 
ish historian, “one still remains in the Syn'ad.” 

There is reason to suppose that Josephus was 
influenced by a desire to maintain the higdi an- 

* u 

tiquity of his nation, and was thus induced to 
bring forward, as a corroboration of the Mosaic 
history, a testimony which, if not entirely un¬ 
founded, is at best of very equivocal authority. 
This subject has been deemed worthy of examina- 



On the Columns of Setli. 155 

(ion by several critics; but, whatever reasons may 
be adduced for supposing the knowledge of let¬ 
ters anterior to the deluge, none have been dis¬ 
covered for investing this obscure tradition with 
any degree of confidence. 

Augustin Mascardi, a learned Genoese of the 
seventeenth century, pronounces it a fable: Forse 
non sono men ^favolose , le colonne di Giuseppe , che 
quelle d’Alcide 

Most probably the notion of Seth having erect¬ 
ed a column, was brought to Jerusalem by some 
of the companions of Jeremiah and Baruch, who 
were conducted by Johanan into Egypt (Jeremiah, 
c. 43). During their stay in that country, they 
became acquainted with the Egyptian traditions, 
founded on the writings of Hermes, Thot, or 
Mercury I., who, according to Manetho, had left 
inscriptions in the sacred character, on columns 
in the Syriad; which inscriptions were, at a 
later period, transcribed in common charac(ers, 
by his successor and homonyme, Mercury II. 

To establish the entity and identity of the first 
Thot, would be a task of some importance, as 
he is said by Sanchoniatho to be the son of Mi- 
sor, Mesroes, or Mizraim, grandson of Noah : 


* Dell' Art Istorica, p. 12. 


156 Essays. 

while oriental writers consider him the same as 
Enoch. Delaborde mentions three Hermes ; the 
first of whom was antediluvian, and the last 
lived about two centuries before Moses*. 

Writers of different nations seem agreed in 
the opinion that letters were known before the 
deluge, as they nearly concur in the method by 
which the antediluvian records were preserved. 
The Chaldean Sisuthros was instructed by Chro- 
nos, or Saturn, before the flood, to bury his 
accounts securely in the temple of the sun at 
Seppara. Plato relates that Thot wrote his dis¬ 
coveries on forty-two pillars, deposited in caves 
near Diospolis; and Manetho differs from him, 
only by placing those columns in the Syriad. 
Ammianus Marcellinus, who flourished while 
Manetho’s history was still extant, after describ¬ 
ing the pyramids of Egypt, writes : — u There 
are, besides, caves and long subterranean pas¬ 
sages ; men versed in the ancient religious rites 
made these retreats to preserve the memory of 
their ceremonies from being lost upon earth by 
the deluge, which they knew was not very re¬ 
mote : they engraved on the walls of these 

Hisloirc de qualre •vinyls Pcuplcs d’AnliquiU. 4to. Paris, 
1788. 


On the Columns of Seth. 157 

vaults, what they called hieroglyphic charac¬ 
ters*." 

Thus Manetho concurs with the Greek philo¬ 
sopher respecting the person who erected the 
columns; with Josephus, with regard to the 
place; and with the Chaldean account, as to the 
purpose of their erection. But where was this 
land of Syriad ? which has been very improperly 
rendered Syria by some translators. Joseph 
Scaliger, in his notes upon Eusebius, declares 
he cannot ascertain where it is situated: Nobis 
ignola est , qncerant studiosi. 

Huet, bishop of Avranches **, supposes that 
the columns of Josephus were astronomical tables 
of the Chaldeans; but admits that he had been 
at a loss to decide upon the situation of the Sy¬ 
riad, until he heard of the idea suggested by 
Isaac Yossius. The name of that country is 
variously written in the different editions of Jo¬ 
sephus : luopiada., Zipiada, and hrupiocd. In the 
Latin version of Epiphanius we find in terra Si- 
ridda , and Bernard has placed in a note upon 
this part in Siriade tellure. The jesuit Bonfre- 
rius, who also published an edition of Josephus, 


* Amm. Marcel , lib. xxii, c. 15. 

** Ob. 26 Jan., 1720, set. 91. 


158 Essays. 

pretends that it is the Seirath mentioned in 
Judges, chap, iii, v. 26, whither Eliud fled after 
killing Eglon. 

The word rendered quarries in the English 
Bible is thus given in the other versions. In 
the Septuagint, za ylvnza ; Vulgate, locum idolo- 
rum; Luther s, den Goizen. Of the French trans¬ 
lators, Marten of Utrecht, and Osterwald of Neu- 
chatel agree with the English, hy giving the word 
carrieres, while de Sacy and Genoude follow the 
Vulgate. In the Latin marginal translation of 
the Chaldee, we meet with transiit slatuas , ei sal - 
vatus est ad Seghir; the Syriac gives the Hebrew 
word pesilim as a proper name; and the Arabic 
changes it into Palestinam. 

Now pesilim is the plural of pesel , a word used 
in the second commandment, to designate an idol. 
Moses Mendelssohn, in his Commentary on Judges, 
has translated it Steinhaufen , which, meaning 
literally a heap or number of stones, would apply 
to the druidical places of worship, and probably 
to the groves of Baal; which appears, after all, 

the most reasonable solution. 

The LXX have, however, translated Pesel in 

Exodus, hy et&ofov which is definite; while the 
meaning given to pesilim , in Judges, is vague; for 


On the Columns of Seth . i 59 

■yAvTcra may be rendered sculptilia, which is eq ually 
applicable to an inscription: and from the lati¬ 
tude allowed by this translation, Calmet, Vossius, 
Marsliam, de Valois, and Huet are of opinion, 
that the Seirath mentioned in the book of Judges 
is the same as the Syriad of Josephus. It may 
also be the place mentioned in Balaam’s prophecy: 
“ Seir also shall be a possession for his enemies.” 
Num. xxiv, v. 18. 

But as the testimony of the Jewish historian 
appears based rather upon Egyptian tradition, 
the situation of the Syriad ought perhaps to he 
ascertained, by an etymology derived from that 
country. 

If the person who engraved the supposed re¬ 
cords was an Egyptian, the place where they 
would have been deposited must have been near 
the Nile, sometimes called Sihor and Sir is. In 
Lybia there was a town named Seres ; and a river 
called Ser falls into the Red sea. Besides which, 
the dog-star Sirius, being a great object of venera¬ 
tion among the Egyptians, the place of deposit 
may have been in a temple so dedicated. 

Mr. Simon*, after a laborious investigation, 

* Simon, Bibliolh'eque Critique,\ ol. 3. I have borrowed largely 
from this valuable work, which was first published under the 


1 GO 


Essays. 

concludes by supposing that the Jews and Egyp¬ 
tians, in their desire to prove their superior 
antiquity over each other, have invented some 
accounts and falsified others. The Egyptian 
priests fabricated statements respecting their 
shepherd kings, which the Hellenist Jews applied 
to the early Hebrews. 

But in attributing to Seth the honour of erect¬ 
ing the column in question, the Jews could not 
pretend to any other descent than that through 
Noah, which was common to the Egyptians, as 
well as themselves; unless, indeed, the deluge 
he considered only a partial visitation, and not 
affecting the entire surface of the globe. 

assumed name of Sainjore , as the freedom of the author’s inqui¬ 
ries gave offence to the French clergy. 


( 161 ) 


NANTERRE AND RIJEL. 


Most of our countrymen who visit the French 
capital, make an excursion to St. Germain-en- 
Laye, a place highly interesting by its beautiful 
situation and majestic forest, as well as from the 
circumstance of king James II having ended his 
days there. It is not, however, intended, on 
this occasion, to attempt any description of that 
town; but merely to notice two places on the 
road leading thither, which cannot fail to have 
attracted the traveller’s observation, although 
comparatively few persons are disposed to quit 
the high road, in order to examine them atten¬ 
tively. 

After passing the hill of Courbevoie, we dis¬ 
cern on the right the tower of an old church, 
and on advancing, the houses of Nanterre are 
perceived in a valley. Few places are so decep¬ 
tive in their appearance as this : at a distance it 

11 









162 


Essays. 

promises great interest, but on passing through 
it, there is little deserving attention ; even the 
church has nothing more than its age to render 
it worth notice, for it does not possess a single 
monument. 

The town is of great antiquity, and is thought 
to have been a sanctuary in the time of the 
Gauls; it was known to the Romans by the 
name of Nemetodonuin; and Dulaure observes 
(Hist, des Environs de Paris) that not only all 
places in the ancient geography of France be¬ 
ginning with nem were devoted to worship, but 
that Nemetis in the Celtic language signifies fa- 
num. For authority he refers to the poet For- 
tunatus, who lived while that tongue was still in 
use: that individual was a native of Valdebia- 
dera, near Treviso; became bishop of Poitiers in 
599, and died ten years after. 

In 429, Germain, bishop of Auxerre, passed 
through Nanterre on his journey to Britain; he 
perceived Genevieve, daughter of Severus, one of 
the inhabitants ; and being struck with her pious 
demeanour, persuaded her to join a religious 
community. She has been canonized, and is 
now the tutelary saint of Paris. The abbe Le- 
beuf, in his account of Nanterre, mentions mira- 


Nanterre and Ruel. 


163 


cles which have been wrought, not only at her 
tomb, but also at the well which her family had 
been in the habit of usinp-. 

a 

Clothaire II was baptized here in 591. The 
church is of very simple architecture; the tower 
is square, and is surmounted by a pyramid co¬ 
vered with slate; it was built at the close of the 
thirteenth century. 

Nanterre was sacked by the English under Ed¬ 
ward III, in 1346, a very short time before the 
battle of Crecy. It was again plundered in 1411; 
and in July, 1815, there was an encounter here 
between the French and Prussians, when the 
latter were cut to pieces. The town at present 
contains two thousand five hundred inhabitants, 
who deal in plaster of Paris, salt pork, and the 
famous cakes (gateaux de Nanterre) so constantly 
offered for sale on all the promenades. 

About a mile beyond Nanterre, and on (he 
left of the road, stands Ruel, a town containing 
about four thousand inhabitants. It is orna¬ 
mented with a number of avenues planted with 
sycamores, limes, acacias, etc.; these give the 
town a pleasing appearance, while the public 
convenience is supplied with a considerable num¬ 
ber of good shops. Ruel is most noted for some 


164 Essays. 

extensive barracks, built by Louis XV; they 
were occupied by the Russians in 1814; by the 
Prussians in 1815; and were subsequently the 
residence of'the Swiss troops. 

The town is old, but has no pretensions to 
such high antiquity as some persons have pre¬ 
tended, in supposing that Gregory of Tours al¬ 
ludes to it by the name of Rotolagum, the coun¬ 
try-residence of the Merovingian kings. That 
place is thought, with more probability, to mean 
the Roule, now one of the faubourgs of Paris; 
for in ancient maps and records, Ruel is other¬ 
wise designated. 

In 817, Louis-le-Debonnaire conferred on the 
abbey of St. Germain-des-Pres, a fishery on the 
Seine, in the district of Rioilus; and in 870, 
Charles the Bald gave Riogilum to the abbey of 
St. Denis. Ruel in fact belonged to that abbey 
till 1635, when it was sold to cardinal Riche¬ 
lieu, who beautified the chateau and gardens, 
and made it his principal residence. For his 
dark and cruel purposes, he had oubliettes in his 
mansion, and several private executions took 
place there. 

In common with Nanterre, Ruel suffered, in 
1376, from the English invasion. The church 


Nanterre and Ruel. 


\ G5 


is beautiful; the steeple rises from the centre, 
and, though it presents three distinct styles of 
building, it has a very pleasing appearance. 
The tower, which is the most ancient, is said to 
have been built hv the English, and corresponds 
with the architecture of the early part of the 
fifteenth century. It is of an octagonal form, 
and is surmounted with a tapering slate-covered 
spire. The body of the church was built dur¬ 
ing the troubles of the League, and the first 
stone was laid by Anthony, the exiled king of 
Portugal; the chancel ends in a pentagon, and 

the sides are ornamented with the arched abut- 

% 

ments common in Gothic edifices. The western 
front is of Grecian architecture, and was con¬ 
structed under the auspices of cardinal Riche¬ 
lieu, by Lemercier, who also built the church 
of the Sorbonne. 

The chateau of Ruel was in later years the 
residence of marshal Massena; and the empress 
Josephine resided at Malmaison, in the same pa¬ 
rish. That lady is buried in the church, where 
an elegant monument has been erected to her 
memory, by her children. It is of marble, and 

V ' * 

consists ol a large base, on which stand two co¬ 
lumns an.! two pilasters; a sp’endid arch rcs's 


166 Essays. 

on them, and forms a canopy for the figure of 
Josephine, who is represented in the act of 
prayer: the likeness is most striking. The go¬ 
vernment has not permitted any other inscrip¬ 
tion than the following —A Josephine, Eugene et 
Hortense. By the side of this monument is an¬ 
other, erected by Josephine, to the memory of 
her uncle, Robert Margar Tascher de la Page- 
rie, who died in March, 1803, aged sixty-six. 
It consists of a plain sarcophagus, with an in¬ 
scription in marble, part of which has, how¬ 
ever, been defaced; for as it stated, although in 
Latin, that it was erected by order of Napoleon’s 
consort, that line was covered with cement, and 
the word Josephina painted over it in large cha¬ 
racters. 

In the stained glass of the windows, and in the 
centres of the groined roof, are little escutcheons 
bearing a key and sword in saltier, emblematical 
of St. Peter and St. Paul, to whom the church 
is dedicated. There is, besides, over the arch 
between the north aisle and the transept, an¬ 
other device, rather difficult to explain. It con- 
sists of a shield hearing quarterly, 1st and 4th, 
the letter P\; 2nd and 3rd, a branch; above is a 
ducal coronet, from which rises a branch be- 



Nanterre and Ruel. 167 

tween the letters H R. The beadle states that 
they are supposed by the inhabitants to be the 
arms of cardinal Richelieu: but that is decidedly 
a mistake, for his arms were, Argent , three 
chevrons Gules; and as his Christian name was 
Armand, the letters II R cannot apply to him. 
This shows that a popular notion may be very 
fallacious as an historical authority. 

Dulaure mentions two other inscriptions 
which formerly existed in this church, hut 
which are no longer visible. One is in comme¬ 
moration of the kinff of Portugal having laid the 
first stone of the building. The other is an eni- 
taph upon a personage named Zaga Christ, who 
called himself king of Ethiopia, and died here 
in the reign of Louis XIII. Richelieu considered 
him an adventurer. The epitaph was as fol¬ 
lows : 

Ci gist du Roy d’Ethiopie, 

L’original ou la copie: 

Fut-il Roy, ne fut-il pas— 

La mort termine les debats. 




( 168 ) 


MEUDON AND CLAMART. 


The promising appearance of the weather on 
All Saints’ day (one of my very few holidays) in¬ 
duced a ramble on the southern bank of the 
Seine, with a confident hope that some venerable 
relic of the olden time would gratify my taste for 
architectural antiquities. 

I am not one who can walk 4 4 from Dan to 
Beersheba and say it is all barren,” yet I must 
confess my disappointment was great, on meet¬ 
ing with such a dearth of objects, in four very 
ancient villages through which I passed, viz. Meu- 
don, Clamart, Issy, and Vaugirard. 

Meudon is remarkable only for its chateau 
and grounds. The terrace on the north-eastern 
front is perhaps unrivalled. The town is men¬ 
tioned in records of the thirteenth century as 
Meodum and Modunum. In 1539, the manor 



Meudon and Clamart. 


169 


belonged to Anthony Sanguin, bishop of Orle¬ 
ans, who bequeathed it to his niece, the duchess 
of Estampes, mistress of Francis I. That lady 
disposed of it, in 1546, to the cardinal of Lor¬ 
raine, who built a magnificent chateau from the 
designs of Philibert de Lorme. The interior 
was ornamented with paintings representing 
the sessions of the council of Trent, at which 
the cardinal assisted. His nephew, Henry, duke 
of Guise, also improved the park and grounds. 
It was afterwards possessed successively by the 
statesmen Servien and Louvois, who both ex¬ 
pended considerable sums upon it. Abel Ser¬ 
vien, plenipotentiary for negotiating the treaty 
of Westphalia, died in the chateau, 17th Feb. 
1659, aged sixty-six. Francois Michel le Tel- 
lier, marquis de Louvois, died at Versailles, 
16th July, 1691, aged 51. His widow made an 
exchange of the chateau with the dauphin, for 
Choisy-le-Roi and 900 000 livres. Lenotre w-as 
then employed to embellish the gardens; and 
Louis XIV derived great pleasure from visiting 
his son, who constantly resided here. That 
prince, like his father, ended a voluptuous ca¬ 
reer by a secret marriage : Mile. Choin’s position 
at Meudon and that of Mme. de Maintenon at 
Versailles, were precisely similar. 


170 


Essays. 

The dauphin’s attachment to this residence 
lasted till his death, which occurred here in 
April, 1711. In order to accommodate Mile, de 
Choin, he huilt a smaller mansion by the side of 
the original edifice—that is the present chateau; 
for the old building having been employed dur¬ 
ing the revolution for making experiments in 
gunnery, was so dilapidated, that its demolition 
was ordered in 1803. 

Meudon is in the south-west of a circular 
range of hills, forming the bassin de Paris . The 
position is very commanding, and is about live 
miles distant from Notre-Dame. When Henry III 
was preparing to besiege the capital, in 1589, 
the king of Navarre’s forces were posted along 
the hills to the south of Paris, while his head¬ 
quarters were at this chateau. 

The town of Meudon is immediately under 
the terrace; it contains about sixteen hundred 
inhabitants, hut a thousand more must be add¬ 
ed for several dependent hamlets; viz. Bas- 
Meudon, Belle-Vue, Montalet, and Fleury. The 
church contains nothing interesting, either in its 
external appearance or internal decorations. The 
tower is square, but not lofty; being less elevated 
than the roof of the chancel, which entirely con¬ 
ceals it, when viewed from the opposite plain. 


Meudon and Clamart. 


171 


Rabelais was appointed to the living in \ 532, 
by cardinal du Bellay, bishop of Paris; but there . 
is no inscription in the church to notify that the 
witty author of Pantagruel ever filled its pulpit. 

It is true he did not much reside here, being a 
prebendary of St. Maur, and holding the situa¬ 
tion of physician to the cardinal. He died at 
Paris, in \ 553, set. 70. 

The forest of Meudon is extensive and very 
romantic; the paths wind up the sides of steep 
hills, and the varied foliage of oak, beech, and 
chesnut, affords a beautiful variety of hue; 
while several deep ravines render the prospect 
gratifying to the lover of the picturesque. Occa¬ 
sionally meeting the gardes-de-chasse; hearing, 
from time to time, the stroke of the woodman’s 
axe; and at intervals observing magpies and other 
birds fly across my path, my imagination became 
preoccupied; and by turning to view the cha¬ 
teau in its different aspects, I ceased to notice 
the direction in which I wandered: when I wished 
to return homeward, it became difficult to ascer¬ 
tain the direction in which my route lay. 

At last I perceived a village into which I en¬ 
tered, and naturally inquired its name, distance 
from Paris, etc. The countryman to whom I 


172 Essays. 

addressed myself answered me with apparent ci¬ 
vility ; but he conceived such suspicions respect¬ 
ing me, that he decided on watching my steps; 
and I afterwards discovered that he had deceived 
me in his replies to my inquiry. 

Clamart (for that is the name of the place) is 

distant from the high roads, and lies so concealed 

in a valley, that it is rarely visited by the Pari- 
* 

sians. I could not help remarking the absence 
of every description of house for entertaining 
such visitors, as they are usually numerous in 
the environs of Paris, with game, fish, and poul¬ 
try painted on the walls, the placard fait noces et 
festins , and a pompous notice of salon de cent con¬ 
verts ; although the size of the house renders 
it impossible for one-fourth of the number to 
assemble. 

The church was the first object of my atten¬ 
tion, and I proceeded thither, hut was immedi¬ 
ately convinced, that it contained nothing of 
interest; it was built in 1 523, but appears more 
ancient. 

Although Clamart contains a population of 
above nine hundred souls, there is only one au- 
berge or cafe in the village. On calling for re¬ 
freshment, as two countrymen were sitting in 


Mcudon and Clamarl. 


173 


the room, I asked several questions respecting 
the number of inhabitants, and other particulars 
arising out of the circumstance of my falling 
upon a place which l had never heard mentioned; 
and where the inhabitants came to their doors 
as I passed, staring at me as they would have 
done at 

Anthropophagi, and men whose heads 

Do grow beneath their shoulders. 

In the mean time the cafe was fdling with people, 
whose whispers to each other, coupled with very 
significant glances at me, clearly indicated the 
existence of suspicion on my account. Presently 
one of the party asked me civilly who I was, and 
what I did in that neighbourhood; I replied that 
I was walking for my pleasure. 

“ Ah! (said he) these promeneurs do a great 
deal of harm to the country.” 

The man whom I had accosted on my arrival 
then addressed me: “This is not the first time 
you have been at Clamart, although you pre¬ 
tend not to know the place.” Then turning to 
his companions, he told them what had passed 
between him and me; adding, “that on leaving 
him, I had taken the direct road to the church, 
without having occasion to ask any one;” for 




'] 74 Essays. 

he had actually given me another route. A very 
significant Ah! escaped from nearly all present, 
who forgot, in their simplicity, that the steeple 
was a sufficient indication. As it was then de¬ 
cided that I ought not to be allowed to depart, 
prudence required that I should give no further 
explanation; and when one of the party asked 
my name and residence, and if I had a passport, 
I declined answering any questions, except be¬ 
fore a magistrate. u There are so many traitors 
about,” said one who appeared to he a butcher, 
“that we must take him before the mayor.” 
He then asked if I were a Jesuit, and made some 
observations on my being so far from Paris with¬ 
out papers. 

When I had finished my slender repast, I was 
conducted by three national guards, and fol¬ 
lowed by a train of villagers, to the residence of 
the mayor. I had no difficulty in making my¬ 
self known to that functionary, who informed 
my accuser that he was perfectly satisfied. The 
countryman was confused at the result of his ex¬ 
ertions, for in consequence of some cornstacks 
having been fired the day previous* at Bourg-la- 
Reine, he thought I was an incendiary; which 

* November, 1830. 




Mention and Clamart. 


175 


seemed the more evident to him, as one of my 
earliest questions was respecting the distance 
from the river, which I viewed as the most infal¬ 
lible method of gaining the road to Paris, while 
he connected it with the means of extinguishing 
the fires 1 proposed to kindle. 

This I learned from one of the national guards, 
who politely offered to show me the road to Issy. 
On leaving me, he said: u l recommend you, 
sir, not to make any more such inquiries as you 
proceed, or you will be arrested in every village 
through which you pass.” 

Clamart is in old records called Clemartium; 
in the eleventh century it belonged to the monks 
of St. Martin-des-Champs. Adam, grand-cuisi- 
nier of St. Louis, had a house here. In 1815, a 
skirmish took place close by, between the Eng¬ 
lish and Vandamme’s division. It was in this 
village also that Condorcet was arrested when 
proscribed by Piobespierre. He was conducted 
to Bourg-la-Reine by the people of Clamart, who 
were not aware of the consequence of their pri¬ 
soner. Condorcet could not remain in Paris, 
and had passed two nights in the forest of Meu- 
don. The length of his beard and the voracity 
of his appetite excited the attention of the auber- 


1TG 


Essays. 

gist; and being unable to give a satisfactory ac¬ 
count of himself, lie was taken into custody. 
He escaped a revolutionary trial and condemna¬ 
tion by means of an active poison, which he had 
constantly carried about him to provide for a 
case of extremity. 

From Clamart I proceeded to Issy, which name 
is considered to be derived from Isis, who had a 
temple there before the introduction of Chris¬ 
tianity. The church is a pretty edifice; the ar¬ 
chitecture is in the style of the fifteenth century, 
hut it contains nothing worth notice. Opposite 
the church door is an old ruin, said to be part 
of the palace of Childebert. Issy contains about 
eleven hundred inhabitants. 

A little further on, towards Paris, is Vaugi- 
rard, with an old church, which however is less 
beautiful than that of Issy, with no more attrac¬ 
tion for the antiquary. 







( I" ) 


NOTICE OF 

THE CHURCH OF SAINT EUSTACHE. 


Those who derive any satisfaction from in¬ 
specting the memorials of other days, will assur¬ 
edly be disappointed on visiting the churches of 
Franee. An archaeological wanderer finds in the 
most obscure English village some monument 
calculated to interest him, either from the re¬ 
moteness of its date, or by the recollections it 
excites. The gravestones and mural tablets form 
a species of local history—a history, it is true, 
seldom free from hiatus, but which, nevertheless, 
suffices to impart a tolerably correct list of any 
distinguished men who have resided in the neigh¬ 
bourhood. 

In France, the churches have been stripped of 
such ornaments. The revolutionary demagogues 
were afraid of such continual, though silent, ap¬ 
peals Co popular feeling; and every thing tending 


12 







178 


Essays. 

to perpetuate the memory of noble or priest was 
destroyed. A few monuments are, notwith¬ 
standing, still to be met with —rari nantes in 
gurgite vaslo. In some cases they have been re¬ 
stored ; while in others they were spared by the 
destroyer. 

St. Eustache is one of the principal churches 
in Paris ; and from the appearance of the walls, 
it seems to have possessed a considerable num¬ 
ber of monuments before the revolution. It is 
a fine majestic building — very lofty, and of a 
highly ornamented Gothic style: the portail of the 
southern transept is worthy of a cathedral; but 
the western front, or chief entrance, does not 
harmonize, being of Grecian architecture. It 
has been beautified since 1830. 

The interior is Gothic; and having double 
aisles, presents a very imposing appearance; es¬ 
pecially when viewed from the entrance, as the 
stained glass windows above the choir are there 
seen to advantage. Besides some paintings, this 
church is decorated with a few monuments. 

In a chapel behind the chief allar, which in 
England is usually termed the Lady chapel, a 
monument has been erected to the memory of 
Colbert, who is represented kneeling on a black 


St. Eustachc. 


179 


sarcophagus. The inscription is simply— Jean 
Baptiste Colbert, ministre d'etat, mort en 1 683. 

At the other extremity of the church, on the 
right of the entrance, is a mural tablet with the 
following epitaph : 

Cy git Francois de Chevert * * * * * * gouverneur de 
Givet et Charlemont; lieutenant-general des armees 
****** Sans fortune, sans appuy, orphelin des l’en- 
fance, il entra au service k l’age de onze ans. II s’eleva 
malgre 1’envie, a force de merite; et chaque grade fut le 
prix d’une action d’eclat. Le seul titre de marechal de 
France a manque, non pas a sa gloire, mais a l’exemple 
de ceux qui le prendront pour modele. II etoit ne a 
Verdun-sur-Meuse, le 2 fevrier 1695 ; il mourut k 
Paris, le 20 janvier 1769. Priez Dieu pour le repos de 
son ame. 

This monument has been defaced, and pro¬ 
bably would have disappeared, had not the 
inscription contained a severe reproof of the 
favouritism attributed to the old regime. The 
words du roi have evidently followed armees ; and 
as the tablet is surmounted with Chevert’s bust, 
decorated with the order of the St. Esprit, it is 
presumable tha the had some titles, recited after 
his name, and occupying two entire lines which 
have been obliterated. 

There is, in one of the lateral chapels in the 
south aisle, a medallion bust of Dr. Sccousse, 


180 


Essays. 

who was curate of the parish during forty-two 
years, and died in 1771. 

A tablet of black marble concludes our list. 
It has an inscription stating that, on the twenty- 
sixth of April, 1637, the church, having been 
restored, was consecrated by Gondy, archbishop 
of Paris, in the presence of president Seguier 
and others. The inscription further promises 
indulgence to those who may in future attend the 
anniversary service, on the second Sunday after 
Easter. This tablet was lost for some time, and 
being discovered in 1810, was replaced with 
solemnity. 

In describing the monuments of the Parisian 
churches, it may not be misplaced to mention a 
macaronic inscription over the benilier of the 
church of the Petits-Peres : it is curious, as it 
can be read backwards : 

inipov cc) p/j y.ovot'j o<piv. 

In front of the last-mentioned church is a 
fountain, on which is inscribed the following 
distich; conveying a beautiful precept, in lan¬ 
guage by no means devoid of elegance : 

Quae dat aquas, saxo latet hospita nympha sub imo : 

Sic tu, cum dederis donum latere velis. 










( 'SI ) 


ST. GERMAIN-L’AUXERROIS. 


The ancient church of St. Germain-l’Auxer- 
rois is one of the most prominent antiquities of 
this city, and is visited by almost every traveller 
who arrives here, being situated in a quarter 
constantly traversed by all classes. The build¬ 
ing is not remarkable for beauty; and in point of 
age, it yields to St. Germain-des-Pres ; but from 
various circumstances, it has excited more in¬ 
terest with the antiquary, as well as among the 
merely curious spectators. 

Had Napoleon remained on the throne of 
France, this church would have been demo¬ 
lished some years hack; he intended opening a 

road from the eastern facade of the Louvre to 

* 

the place de la Bastille. That plan would have 
greatly improved, as well as embellished Paris; 
for it would have laid open many of the narrow 
fetid streets in the heart of the town, where it is 



182 


Essays. 

scarcely exaggeration to say the sunbeams never 
penetrate. A new site was fixed on for a church 
to replace it; but the clergy have hitherto had 
too much influence to allow the improvement to 
be taken into consideration. However, as there 
exists a hearty desire to promote all measures of 
public utility, some design, in part based upon 
the emperor’s plan, will ultimately be carried 
into execution. 

The western front of this church looks on the 
splendid facade of the Louvre; and is at a suffi¬ 
cient distance to allow a convenient view of 

both edifices. On the north side is the rue Cliil- 

* 

peric; on the south, the rue des Pretres; and on 
the east, the rue de l’Arbre-Sec*. The church, 
however, is not detached, for houses and shops 
have been erected in corners, formed by pro¬ 
jecting parts of the building; and the whole 
presents a mass of confused memorials of differ¬ 
ent ages, exhibiting in some parts the offerings 
of superstitious piety; in others, the traces of 
revolutionary spoliation. 

A church was erected on this spot in 606, by 

* 

* As executions formerly took place at the end of this street, 
the name is probably an allusion to the gallows or tree which 
stood there. 



St. Germain-VAuxerrois. 


183 


Chilperic ; it was dedicated to Germain, the 
twentieth bishop of Paris, who died in 57G, and 
was long called St. Germain-la-Ronde, on account 
of its circular form. That bishop had excom¬ 
municated Caribert, king of Paris, for polyga¬ 
my ; and was in such great reputation, that 
many persons bequeathed their property towards 
defraying the expense of translating his remains 
to the new church. 

The original edifice being destroyed by the 
Normans, the church was rebuilt by king Ro¬ 
bert, in the beginning of the eleventh century; 
when it received the name of St. Germain-Z’Tw- 
xerrois, to distinguish it from another church 
dedicated to St. Germain. But Alexander III, 
in a bull of 1165, continues to give it -the old 
appellation, Monasterium Sancti Germani Rotundi. 

The church at present consists of some por¬ 
tions of that erected by Robert, with additions 
and reparations made by the English in 1423. 
It belongs to no particular class of architecture; 
and it becomes difficult to give an intelligible 
account of so irregular a building. Viewed 
from the west, we see a wide porch, and on each 
side of the principal door are three statues: they 
stand upon brackets formed by figures of de- 


over 


184 Essays. 

formed animals, and in the mouldings, 
the door, are rows of various little monsters. 
A turret of plain stone work is seen on each side 
of the bodv of the church; and a number of or- 
namented pinnacles, on the top of the buttresses, 
with projecting spouts terminating in misshapen 
figures, give rather a grotesque appearance to 
the buildinff. 

The porch not extending the whole breadth 
of the edifice, the space on each side was after¬ 
wards filled up by two chambers ; one of them is 
destined for the administration of the Eucha¬ 
rist, the other for baptism; an inscription over 
each denotes the epoch of their erection; the 
former was built in 1608, the latter in 1639*. 

The interior of the church is not very strik¬ 
ing : the double aisles are so very wide, that, 
including the little chapels which encircle the 
place, the body is not more than one-fifth of 
the building. The pillars which support the 
roof over the aisles, are round, and very mas¬ 
sive in proportion to their height; a few ol 
them have mouldings. The absence of a gal¬ 
lery has caused the windows to be very lofty; 


They have both been recently pulled down. 


St. Germain-VAuxerrois. 


185 


although they are all of equal height, there is a 
great want of uniformity in them, which is the 
more conspicuous, as some are ornamented 
with stained Hass. 

This church was for a long time collegiate, 
as well as parochial; but the repeated disputes 
between the incumbents and the canons, induced 
the parliament to unite the chapter to that of 
Notre-Dame. Many persons of eminence have 
been buried here; among others, marshal d’An- 
cre, whose remains were exhumed and most 
ignominiously treated; and it has often been se¬ 
lected for the delivery of funeral orations in 
commemoration of distinguished individuals who 
died elsewhere : Claude Espence, a famous doc¬ 
tor of the Sorbonne, pronounced in this church 
a discourse in honour of the chancellor Olivier, 
who died at Amboise in 1560. It was the bell 
of St. Germain-1’Auxerrois which gave the sig¬ 
nal for murdering the protestants in 1572; and 
during the revolution of 1830, the church was 
used as an hospital for those who were wounded 
in .the attack of the Louvre. 

There are a few monuments in this church, 
which are interesting as the wrecks of other 

<3 

days. In a little chapel in the south-east cor- 


18G Essays. 

ner, are two statues, about the natural size, re¬ 
presenting Stephen Aligre, father and son, who 
successively filled the office of chancellor. The 
figure of the father is in a reclining posture; 
the inscription states that his heart was buried 
there, and that he died 11th December, 1635. 
The other figure is kneeling; he died 25th Oc¬ 
tober, 1677; and according to the inscription, 
his body was interred in that chapel. Both 
these monuments were restored in 1822, by their 
descendant, the marquis d’Aligre. 

In a chapel nearly opposite, are two statues, 
two busts, and a long inscription on black mar¬ 
ble : they are memorials of the Rostaing family, 
and were restored in 1824, by the present mar¬ 
quis de Rostaing. The busts and the inscrip¬ 
tions were formerly in the church of the Feuil- 
lans; the statues were in this church, which 
contained the tomb of the elder branch of the 
family. 

There are also a few tablets inscribed with the 
names of persons who have died since the resto¬ 
ration ; in particular, a marble slab to the me¬ 
mory of the duke de Riviere, governor of the 
duke of Bordeaux; he died 21 st April, 1828, 
and is buried at Bel-Air, near Bourges. The in- 


St. Germain-1 ’ Auxerrois . 


187 


scription is surmounted with his arms, which 
being only in outline, do not distinctly indicate 

r 

the blazon: they consist of a chevron on a shield, 
paly of six. 

This church was outside the city until the 
reign of Louis-le-Gros, who built a wall to pro¬ 
tect the northern suburbs of Paris. Philip-Au¬ 
gustus, in 1190, built another defence of more 
substantial materials, and comprising a more 
extended circumference : it left the hank of the 
river at the spot where the pont des Arts now 
stands, and passed direct to the rue St. Honore, 
where a fortified gate was erected near the pre¬ 
sent site of the Oratoire. 

Those who desire more information, are re¬ 
ferred to Felibien, Hist, de Paris; Dulaure, idem; 
and Jaillot, Recherches critiques et historiques snr 
Paris. 


P.S. The church of St. Germain-fAuxerrois 
has acquired additional historical importance 
since the preceding notice was written. In Feb- • 
ruarv, 1831, on the anniversary of the duke de 
Berry’s death, a political demonstration was got 
up by some partisans of the exiled royal family. 



188 Essays. 

A tumult arose, in which the church was sacked, 
and the moh afterwards rifled the archbishop’s 
residence, near Notre-Dame. The latter edifice 
has been completely removed by order of the 
government; but this church is now undergoing 
a thorough restoration; and is being cleared of 
the miserable constructions raised around it. 


( 189 ) 


SAINT ROCH. 


The church of St. Roch, situated in the rue 
St. Honore, is an edifice which attracts the 
notice of every visitor to this capital. It is the 
parochial church of the second arrondissement 
of Paris. Thebuilding is of Greek architecture, 
and was begun in 1 653 by Lemercier: Louis XIV 
and his mother, Anne of Austria, laid the first 
stone. The works were suspended immediately 
after the interior of the building was completed; 
and in 1720, the celebrated Law having given a 
hundred thousand livres towards finishing and 
beautifying the church, Robert de Cotte was 
employed on the occasion : that architect died in 
1736, at which period his work was not quite 
finished. 

When Charles V enlarged Paris, he left the 
neighbourhood of St. Roch, then called Gaillon, 
outside the city walls. The porte St. Denis was 


\ 




190 


Essays. 

placed at the spot now known by that name ; the 
line of the walls from thence to the river passed 
along the rues Bourbon-Villeneuve and Fosses- 
Montmartre ; across the sites of the place des 
Victoires and the garden of the Palais-Royal; and 
then followed the rues du Rempart and Nicaise 
to the quay. In the reign of Louis XIII, a fur¬ 
ther extension took place, by the line being drawn 
from the porte St. Denis, along the present boule¬ 
vards, to the porte St. Hon ore. 

So late as 1670, there were windmi s on the 
eminence known by the name of the butte des Mou¬ 
lin s: the rue des Moulins marks the situation; 
while the rue Gaillon, close by, perpetuates the 
original name of the district. It was on that 
spot that Joan d’Arc was wounded, in 1429, in 
an attack upon Paris, then in possession of the 
English. 

St. Roch is but modern in the calendar—he 
was born at Montpellier towards the close of the 
thirteenth century; and having made a pilgrim¬ 
age to Rome, when only twenty years of age, he 
effected many cures of the plague; he died 13th 
August, 1327, and since his canonization, is 
invoked by persons afflicted with contagious 
disorders. There is no particular tradition cur- 


St. Roch. 


191 


rent to explain the dedication of this church, or 
the chapel huilt in 1 587 on the same spot. It is 
however probable, that it arose from a lazar- 
house being established outside the city walls. 

The church extends from north to south; it 
has a front ornamented with two rows of pillars 
—the lower of the Doric, the upper of the Corin¬ 
thian order. A wide flight of steps from the 
rue St. Ilonore affords a tolerable view from that 
street; but, in every other direction, the edifice 
is blocked up with buildings. The absence of a 
portico renders the external appearance of the 
church rather meagre. It has a respectable 
square tower, which, how r ever, is scarcely vis- 
ible; it is erected over an angle formed by the 
eastern transept, and the northern part of the 
body of the church. Although the tower con¬ 
sists of three stages, it can onlv be seen from the 
pont Royal, or the terrace of the Tuileries gar¬ 
den. 

The internal architecture is Doric. The 
aisles meet behind the principal altar, which is 
detached; and behind which three chapels are 
discerned from the body of the church. The 
first is of circular form, and is dedicated to the 
Virgin* at the entrance are two paintings—the 


192 


Essays. 

raising of Jairus’s daughter, by Delorme, and 
the dealers driven out of the temple, by Thomas. 
The second is the chapel for the communion; 
and the third is fitted up as a Calvaire , with a 
group representing the body of Jesus being 
placed in the tomb. In both the recesses formed 
by the transept, are altars, each ornamented 
with a large painting and the statues of several 
saints. 

The choir is surrounded by eight little cha¬ 
pels, each of which contains a bas-relief repre¬ 
senting an historical event from the New Testa¬ 
ment. At the left of the nave, near the en¬ 
trance, is the chapel of the font, adorned with a 
group in white marble by Lemoine, representing 
the baptism of Christ. The chapel beyond it, 
and that corresponding with it on the opposite 
aisle, contain a few monuments, wrecks of the 
former splendour of the church, and of others 
which have been totally destroyed in the revolu¬ 
tion. They consist of:— 

A medallion bust of Maupertuis, supported by 
a pyramid, and surrounded by emblematical re¬ 
presentations of science; on the pedestal is a 
long Latin inscription to the memory of that 
philosopher and academician, who was born at 


St. Rock. 


193 


St. Malo, 1G98, and died at Bale, 1759. The 
revolutionary chisel has defaced not only the 
different allusions to royalty, but also the par¬ 
ticle de, which was prefixed to his name. On a 
pedestal is preserved the bust of Andrew Leno- 
tre, who planned the gardens of Versailles and 
the Tuileries, ob. 1700, set. 87. 

Medallion busts of marshal d’Asfeld, who died 
1743; and of madame Live de Jully, who died 
1752. 

Two monuments of the Crequi family, which 
were originally in the convent of the Capucines. 
One is a bust of Francis Bonn de Crequi, duke 
de Lesdiguieres, marshal of France, oh. 4th 
Feb. 1687. The other is a statue of the natural 
size, in a reclining posture, supported by a weep¬ 
ing figure ; it represents Charles, duke de Cre¬ 
qui, ambassador at Rome, who died 13th Feb¬ 
ruary, 1687. 

Cardinal Dubois, archbishop of Camhray, is 
represented in a kneeling posture. This monu¬ 
ment was executed by Guillaume Coustou. The 
cardinal died 19th August, 1723, and was in¬ 
terred in the church of St. Honore, which no 
longer exists. 

A monument to the memory of Pierre Mignard, 

13 




194 


Essays. 

a painter of considerable celebrity. Louis XIV 
employed him ten times to take his portrait. 
Mignard died 30th May, 1695, aged 85, and 
was buried in the church of the Jacobins, which 
formerly stood near the marche St. Ilonore and 
opposite the residence of the late earl of Bridge- 
water. 

A figure supporting a bust of Henry of Lor- 
rain, grand-ecuyer of France, nat. 20th March, 
1601, ob'. 15th July, 1660. This monument 
was originally placed over his tomb in the church 
of the Feuillans, on the site of the rue Montha- 
bor. 

On the columns which support the organ loft, 
are two tablets,—one of them, erected at the ex¬ 
pense of the present king, then duke of Orleans, 

is surmounted by a bust of Corneille, and bears 
the following inscription : 

Pierre Corneille, ne a Rouen, 6 janvier 1606, mort a 
Paris, rue d’Argenteuil, l er octobre 1686, est inhume 

r 

dans cette eglise. Erige en 1821. 

The other tablet is of the same shape and size, 
but instead of a bust, it is surmounted by a cross 
moline ar, in a circular shield az; it was erected 
in 1822, and is thus inscribed : 

A la memoire des bienfaiteurs et des personnes de 


St. Rock. 195 

cette paroisse, dont les monumens n’ont pu 6tre 
trouves. 

Then follow fifteen names, among which the 
most remarkable are the president Henault, the 
abbe Mably, and marshal Lonvois. 

On the 13 vendemiaire, an 4 (5th October, 
1796), some national guards posted themselves 
in this church when attacked by Barras and Bo¬ 
naparte. The latter placed cannon at the end of 
the rue du Dauphin (then called rue de la Con¬ 
vention), and soon dislodged them. A military 
commission sat in the church a few days after, 
when some of the national guards were con¬ 
demned to death, others to banishment. 

In 1799, this edifice was called the Temple du 
Genie , and a telegraph was placed on the tower. 


( 190 ) 


ST. ETIENNE-DU-MONT. 


St. Etienne-du-Mont is the parochial church 
of the twelfth arrondissement of Paris; it is situ¬ 
ated on one of the highest spots of ground with¬ 
in the walls, at the top of the rue de la Montagne- 
Ste-Genevieve; and the present building is so 
contiguous to the Pantheon, I hat the English 
visitor is forcibly reminded of St. Margaret’s, 
Westminster, standing like a pious handmaid by 
ihe side of that venerable abbey. 

In 1 221, the population of the neighbourhood 
having greatly increased, a separate church was 
erected; but it was still considered a part of the 
abbey, in order to be exempted from the juris¬ 
diction of the bishops of Paris. The chancel 
was added in 1491 ; and the side chapels were 
constructed at subsequent periods. The por- 
tail, or grand front, was built in 1610, by Mar¬ 
garet of Valois, the divorced queen of Henry IV. 



V ' 

St. Etienne-du-Mont. 197 

Such an edifice naturally exhibits great diversity 
of style. 

On approaching the church from the west, the 
front presents four Corinthian pillars with a pe¬ 
diment. The columns are ornamented with 
annular bands and other devices, commonly in¬ 
troduced at the close of the sixteenth century; 
there is a specimen of this style in the Tuileries, 
and in that part of the gallery of the Louvre 
which was built by Henry IV. Above the pedi¬ 
ment are four pilasters ; in the centre is a circu¬ 
lar window, and between the pair on each side 
is a niche; the whole is surmounted by a cor¬ 
niced arch. The upper part of the front forms 
a gable end; and in the triangle is an opening 
for a window, latticed up with fantastic curves 
in stone-work. On the northern side, and a 
little behind the front, rises a slender square 
tower of three stages, with a projecting circular 
staircase; and at the corner of the building is a 
little round turret, with a slated cone-shaped 
roof; this turret contains a staircase, leading to 
a room over a porch at the north-west end. It 
is probable that the tower and this porch were 
erected at the same time as the chancel, for the 
style is of that age. 


198 


Essays. 

The partition walls of the chapels on the south 
side are carried up to a considerable height, and 
terminate in slopes on a line with the roof. The 
design of the north side is different, as ‘there are 
two rows of buttresses; the inner row being 
ornamented with pinnacles. The roof is formed 
so as to represent a cross more distinctly on the 
outside than within. At each corner of the 
arms are flying buttresses; and to the north-east 
of the cross is another cone-topped turret, nearly 
as high as the top of the chancel, which ends in 
a heptagon; that distribution of the east end of 
the building has, however, lost a great part of 
its effect, by a circular chapel having been erect¬ 
ed behind the principal altar. 

The interior of this church has long attracted 
notice; the screen of the choir is formed by a 
narrow gallery, which passes round the pillars 
supporting the roof. The side facing the nave 
is lower than the others, and is placed over an 
arch. A spiral staircase, of remarkable construc¬ 
tion, winds up a column on each side; and a 
handsome porch is placed at each entrance to 
the continuation of the aisle, which passes be¬ 
hind the choir. Galleries similar to the above 
connect the pillars forming the side aisles, at one 


St. Etienne- du-Mont. 199 

third ol their height, and thus render the slen¬ 
der form of those columns less striking. The 
curious workmanship of the balustrades of the 
gallery and staircases leading to it, the rich gild¬ 
ing about the altar, the shrine of St. Genevieve 
placed above it, and the stained glass in the 
eastern windows — all contribute to give this 
church an appearance both singular and inter¬ 
esting. 

No other transept appears than that indicated 
by the discontinuance of the gallery before de¬ 
scribed, and a trifling difference in the height of 
the ceiling. The roof is groined, and appears 
to be of brick, thinly stuccoed over. The com¬ 
partment forming the centre of the cross is or¬ 
namented with medallions, roses, etc., and an 
inverted pinnacle of unusual boldness. The 
proins over the south are higher than those over 

u <J 

the north aisle, which is moreover fdled up in 
part by the base of the tower, as the church was 
enlarged on the erection of the western front. 

This edifice contains several interesting monu¬ 
ments, for which the lovers of church antiqui¬ 
ties are indebted to the late incumbent, M. F. A. 
de Voisins, who exerted himself to recover the 
wrecks of the revolution; he died 14th February, 






200 


Essays. 

1809, and his heart is buried behind the great 
altar, which he had been instrumental in re¬ 
storing, as appears from the following inscription 
on a brass plate : 

27 mars 1806. La piete des fideles a releve du mi¬ 
lieu des ruines, cet autel consacr6 par M’g’r Andre, 

r 

ex-Eveque de Quimper : cur6 M. F. A. de Voisins. 

Another remnant of antiquity, recovered by 
M. Voisins, is the tomb of St. Genevieve. It is 
now placed in a chapel on the right of the choir, 
and is constantly supplied with consecrated ta¬ 
pers by the old women of this city. A long in¬ 
scription on marble gives the history of this 
highly venerated relic. The body of the saint 
reposed in it during one hundred and twenty 
years after her death, which occurred 3rd Janu¬ 
ary, 511. St. Eloi, bishop of Noyon, made a 
shrine for her in 631. The tomb was long an 
object of veneration. Having been stripped of 
the decorations bestowed by the pious cardinal 
de la Rochefoucauld, it was placed in an under¬ 
ground chapel of the abbey, whence it was 
brought to this church by M. de Voisins, 31st 
December, 1803. 

Near the door of the church is an inscription 
on a plain marble tablet, to the memory of the 


St. Elienne-du-Mout. 201 

talented author of the Lettres Provinciates , who 
was interred at the back of the choir: 

Pro columna superiori, sub tumulo marmoreo, jacet 
Blasius Pascal, Claromontanus, Stephani Pascal in su- 
prema apud Arvernos, curia praesidis filius, post ali¬ 
quot annos in severiori secessu, et divinae legis medita- 
tione transactos, feliciter et religiose in pace Christi 
vita functus, anno 1662, aetatis 39° die 19° Augusti. 

In a stone frame to correspond with the above, 
is fixed a tablet, originally placed in the abbey 
of Port-Royal. The epitaph, being the compo¬ 
sition of Boileau, is worthy of insertion at length: 

Hie jacet nobilis vir Joannes Racine, Franciae the- 
sauris praefectus, regi a secretis, atque a cubiculo; 
necnon unus c quadraginta Gallicanae Academiae viris, 
qui postquam profana tragediarum argumenta diu cum 
ingenti hominum admiratione tractasset, musas tandem 
suas uni Deo consecravit, omniumque ingenium in eo 
laudando contulit, qui solus laude dignus. Cum eum 
vitae negotiorumque rationis multis nominibus aulae 
tenerent addictum, tamen infrequenti hominum con- 
sortio, omnia pietatis ac religionis officia coluit. A 
christianissimo rege Ludovico magno selectus, una cum 
familiari ipsius amico fuerat, qui res eo regnante, prae- 
clare ac mirabiliter gestas prescriberet; liuic intentus 
operi repente in gravem aeque et diuturnum morbum 
implicitus est: tandemque ab hac sede miseriarum in 
melius domicilium translatus anno aetatis suae LIX ; qui 
mortem longiori adhuc intervalle remotam valde hor- 
ruerat, ejusdem praesentis aspectum placida fronte sus- 


202 


Essays. 

tinuit, obiitque spe multo magis et pi& in Deum. fiduciA 
crectus quam fractus metu : ea jactura omnes illius ami- 
cos a quibus nonnulli inter regni primores emicabant 
acerbissimo dolore pertulit. Manavit etiam ad ipsum 
regern tanti viri desiderium. Fuit modestia ejus singu- 
laris, et praecipua in hanc portus Regii domum benevo- 
lentia, ut in isto coemeterio pie magis quam magnified 
sepeleri vellet, adeoque testamento cavet, ut corpus 
suum juxta piorum hominum qui hie jacent corpora 
humaretur. Tu vero, quicumque es, quem in hanc 
domum pietas adducit, tuae ipse mutabilitates ad hunc 
aspectum recordare, et clarissimam tanti viri memoriam 
precibus potius quam elogiis prosequere. 

The stone on which this is engraved is dis¬ 
coloured, as if it had lain in water ; it is also 
very much cracked, and in one part it has been 
necessary to insert a new piece, in order to sup¬ 
ply a deficiency, which would have rendered se¬ 
veral lines unintelligible. A coat of arms, in 
outline, is placed over it; viz. a shield, bearing 
a swan, and surmounted with a helmet. Below 
it, hut within the same frame, is a slab of black 
marble with the following in gold letters : 

Epitaphium quod Nicolas Boileau ad amici memoriam 
recolendam monumento ejus Portus Regii ecclesia in— 
scripserat, ex illarum oedium ruderibus, anno 1808 
effossum G. I. G. Comes Chabrol de Volvic, praefectus 
urbi, hue ubi summi veri reliquiae denuo deposit® sunt 
jnstauratum transferri et locari curavit. A. H. S. 1818. 


St. Etienne-du-Mont. 203 

Racine was born at La Ferte-Milon, in Cham¬ 
pagne, 21 st December, 1639; he died at Paris, 
21st April, 1699, and was interred at Port- 
Royal, where he was educated. On the sup- 
pression of that monastery in 1709, his re¬ 
mains, along with those of Lemaistre de Sacy, 
were brought to this church, and buried in a 
little chapel in the north aisle, dedicated to St. 
John the Baptist. Louis Isaac Lemaistre de 
Sacy, celebrated by his translation of the Bible, 
was born 29th March, 1613, and died 4th Janu¬ 
ary, 1684. 

Near the door, on the opposite side of the 
church, is a tablet to the memory of James Be¬ 
nign Winslow, an anatomist of great reputation. 
He was born at Odensee, 2nd April, 1669, and 
died at Paris, 3rd April, 1760. He was con¬ 
verted to the Romish faith by Bossuet, accord¬ 
ing to the following passage in his epitaph : 

Parentibus Lutheranis natus, haeresim quam infans 
imbiberat, vir ejuravit, adnitente ill 0 episcopo Melden- 
si, Jacobo Benigno Bossueto, cujus nomen Benigni in 
confirmationem suscepit: ad ecclesiam Catholicam evo- 
catus, stetit in ejus fide, vixit sub ejus lege, obiit in 
ejus sinu. 

A roughly-engraved stone, placed in the north¬ 
ern wall, records that, on the 14th February * 


204 


Essays. 

1 626, the church was consecrated anew by Je- 
han Francois de Condy (Gondy), archbishop of 
Paris; and immediately below it is another, 
bearing as follows: 

Et pendant les ceremonies de la dedicace, deux filles 
de la paroisse tomberent du hault des galeries du coeur 
avec l’appuy et deux des ballustres, qui furent miracu- 
leusement preservees, comme aussi les assistans, ne 
sestant rencontr6 personne soubz les ruynes, veu l’af— 
fluance du peuple, qui assistoient ausdites ceremonies. 

There are many flat tombstones on the pave¬ 
ment, but scarcely any are legible; one has, how¬ 
ever, been less exposed to the tread of the pub¬ 
lic—the date is not very distinct, but appears 
to be April, 1717: 

Ici repose le corps de Michel Morel, premier bedeau 
et sonneur de Saint-Etienne-du-Mont. 

In this church were likewise buried the painter 
Eustace Lesueur, ob. 1655, set. 38; and the 
abbe Gallois, member of the Academy, and au¬ 
thor of the Journal des Savans, ob. 1707, set. 75. 


( 205 ) 


STRICTURES 

On Moore’s u Travels of an Irish Gentleman 
In Search of a Religion 


The sons of Alma Mater require not a layman’s 
aid in defending the proteslant faith; yet this 
humble endeavour may be of some utility, by 
directing attention to a few points in which the 
author of Captain Rock’s Memoirs appears to 
have reasoned partially or quoted erroneously. 

Among other conclusions, the u Irish Gentle¬ 
man” asserts that modern popery is identical 
with Christianity of the third and fourth centu¬ 
ries ; and that, if the early fathers were to rise 
from their graves and enter an Irish church, 
they would feel quite at home, etc. But how 
has he examined the records of those times, to 
arrive at such a conclusion? Evidently with a 
resolution to produce those arguments alone 
which suit his purpose; and apparently with a 



206 Criticisms. 

determination to strain testimony, when it does 
not go far enough. 

Although an Irishman, it seems he wished to 
begin at the beginning; those fathers, therefore, 
who had conversed with the apostles, were the 
first he examined; and he observes— 

In the person of one of these simple apostolical 
writers, I found that I had popped upon a pope—an 
actual pope! being the third bishop—after St. Peter, 
of that very church of Rome, which I was now about to 
desert for her modern rival.—Yol. i, p. V*. 

St. Clement is here alluded to, and the over¬ 
whelming proof that the jurisdiction of the see of 
St. Peter was fully acknowledged, is a letter from 
St. Ignatius, addressed to the church that “ pre¬ 
sides in the country of the Romans.” Will he 
pretend that a memorial addressed to the govern¬ 
ment of Petersburg supposes the existence of a uni¬ 
versal Russian monarchy? Certainly not: while 
the fact of maintaining a church presiding in one 
country, allows us to infer that other churches 
presided elsewhere. At the same time, his rea¬ 
diness on all occasions to display every phrase 
which strentghens his argument, leaves us no 
other alternative than to suppose, that the letter 
to Clement, and his reply, are less indications of 


Moore's “ Irish Gentleman .” 207 

acknowledged superiority, than proofs of mutual 
good fellowship; for if any paragraph had es¬ 
tablished Clement’s pre-eminence, the extract 
assuredly would not have been confined to the 
superscription. 

As the u Irish Gentleman” must allow the 
prince of apostles to have equal weight with Igna¬ 
tius, let him read the fifth chapter of the first 
epistle of St. Peter; and he may take, if he choose, 
the Vulgate version. In the first verse, address¬ 
ing the elders, Peter styles himself Consenior ; 
and, after exhorting them to feed the flock, he 
adds to his other cautions, neque at dominantes in 
clevis. It is difficult to discover any identity 
between such an injunction and the princely 
authority of the popes; and the author s desire 
to proclaim the then existence of the Roman su¬ 
premacy upon such grounds, indicates the preva¬ 
lence of strong partiality in his researches. 

Because the friends of St. Ignatius preserved 
his hones, and annually celebrated his martyr¬ 
dom, by watching round the shrine in which they 
were placed, we are told (p. 20) that a reverence 
for relics is an apostolical institution; the de¬ 
duction of course is, that protestants do wrong 
in rejecting all the absurd fables of relics and 



208 


Criticisms . 


their miraculous effects, which authorized Ro¬ 
man legends declare to be facts ; and for doubting 
the reality of which not a few have perished 
under the hands of the inquisitors. It may be 
replied that, in defending the original institu¬ 
tion, the Irish Gentleman does not deny the intro¬ 
duction of abuses; but the practice of the Romish 
bishops of the present day is ready to repulse 
such an apology: episcopal proclamations are 
continually issued, not only to defend the virtues 
of the relics—but also to recommend the faithful 
to purchase garments and trinkets, which have 
been laid upon them. We do not require the 
evidence of St. Ignatius’ shrine, to show the high 
antiquity of commemorating a remarkable event. 
Jephtha’s daughter was annually bewailed by the 
daughters of Israel; the deliverance of Bethuliah, 
by Judith^ was celebrated on the return of each 
anniversary; and the Jews were commanded to 
observe, for ever , the feast of Purim, to comme¬ 
morate their escape from the cruel designs of 
Haman. In yet more ancient times, the bones 
of the patriarch Joseph were preserved and car¬ 
ried into the land of Canaan by the Israelites; 
and in the opinion of some commentators, the 
burial-place of Moses was concealed by the Al- 


Moore's “ Irish Gentleman.” -209 

mighty, chiefly to prevent his remains becom¬ 
ing an object of idolatry with the Jewish nation. 

In page 24 we find the following pretended ex¬ 
tract from Hermas, a companion of the apostles, 
whose Pastor has been always so highly esteem¬ 
ed, that an edition was printed at Oxford in 
1685, with a preface attributed to archbishop 
Usher : such a justification of popery was a 
God-send. 

The first thing we have to do, is to observe the com¬ 
mandments of God. If afterwards a man wishes to 
add thereto any good work, such as fasting, he will 
receive the greater recompense. 

Now, what says Hermas? 

Mandata Domini custodi, et eris probatus, et scriberis 
in numero eorum qui custodiunt mandata ejus Sin 
autem praeter ea, quae mandavit Dominus, aliquid boni 
adjeceris, majorem tibi dignitatem conquires, et ho- 
nestior apud Dominum eris, quam eras futurus. Igitur 
si custodieris mandata Domini, et adjeceris etiam ad ea 
stationes has, gaudebis, maxime si secundum mandatum 
meum servaveris ea. (P. 101.) 

Here then we have majorem dignitatem con- 
quires (or, according to some MSS, acquires ) 
honestior eris y and gaudebis , converted, by an un¬ 
usually free translation, into u receive the great¬ 
er recompense.” With respect to stationes has f 

anglicised as above, u such as fasting,” there is 

14 


210 


Criiicisms. 


an evident connexion between those words, and 
the pastor’s mandatum ; which command is fully 
explained in the beginning of the same division 
of the work (. similitude) quinta ), and proves that, 
in his opinion, the difference between gras and 
maigre did not constitute a fast. 

Video pastorem ilium sedentem juxta me, ac dicentem 
mihi: Quid tam mane hue venisti? Respond i: Quoniam 
Domine, stationem habeo. Quid est, inquit, statio? Et 
dixi: jejunium. Et dixit: Quid est illud jejunium? Si- 
cut solebam, inquam, sic jejuno. Nescitis, inquit, Deo 
jejunare, neque est jejunium hoc quod vos jejunatis, 
Deo nihil proficientes. Quare, inquam, Domine, ita 
dicis? Et dixit: Dico enim, quoniam non est jejunium 
hoc, quod putatis vos jejunare; sed ego te docebo quod 
est jejunium plenum, acceptumque Deo. Audi, inquit: 
Dominus non desiderat tale jejunium supervacuum ; 
sic enim jejunando nihil praestas aequitati. Jejuna enim 
verum jejunium tale: Nihil in vita tu& nequiter facias, 
sed mente purft servi Deo, custodiens mandata ejus, et 
in prascepta ejus ingrediaris, neque admiseris deside- 
rium nocens in animo tuo. Crede autem Domino; si 
haec feceris, timoremque ejus habueris et abstinueris ab 
omni negotio malo, Deo te victurum. Haec si feceris, 
jejunium magnum consummabis acceptumque Deo. 

Hermas has been appealed to upon fasting, and 
his decision is clearly in favour of the protestant 
notions on that subject. 

A Daniel, still say I; a second Daniel ! 

1 thank thee, jew. for teaching tne that word. 


Moores “Irish Gentleman.'' 211 

An unbiassed examiner of Hermas would have 
inferred, from the sicut soleham , that he was ac¬ 
customed to fast according to the Mosaic pre¬ 
cept; especially as it is well known that St. Paul 
reproved a prevalent inclination for Judaizing. 

Therefore, instead of giving fasting a dura¬ 
tion of eighteen hundred years, above a thou¬ 
sand more may be added, if it will increase the 
Irish Gentleman’s satisfaction. 

There is a very convenient method of inter¬ 
preting the expressions of the early fathers, in 
order to substantiate the Roman supremacy: it 
is to assume that the word “ church” always re¬ 
fers to that of Rome. However, Tertullian and 
Origen use the word churches; and St. John, in 
the Apocalypse, speaks of seven churches, which 
evidently makes it the equivalent of congregation. 
While in this very work (vol. i, p. 31), there is 
an extract from St. Irenaeus, in which, after 
stating that all the bishops derived their original 
institutions from the apostles, he adds : “ How¬ 
ever, as it would he tedious to enumerate the 
whole list of successions, I shall confine myself 
to that of Rome.” It is true that Irenaeus de¬ 
clares it the greatest, most ancient, and most il¬ 
lustrious church ; but there is not a word to 




212 


Criticisms. 


imply that the other churches were not descend¬ 
ed as clearly and directly from the same source ; 
while it is highly improbable that he would 
have omitted to declare its supremacy, if it had 
been admitted in his time. The silence of Ire- 
nseus, therefore, justifies those who reformed the 
church in the sixteenth century, and protested 
against the authority of the pope. Protestants 
have, further, the sentiments of Hermas on this 
subject, no less positive than on fasting. In bis 
third Vision , the construction of the church 
triumphant is revealed by a female; yet there is 
not the faintest allusion to the future prosperity 
of the Roman pontificate. 

Illi autem juvenes sex qui aedificant, qui sunt Do- 
mina? Ait mihi: Hi sunt Sancti Angeli Dei, qui primo 
constituti sunt, quibus tradidit Dominus universam 
creaturam suam, ut struerent, aedificarent et domina- 
rentur creaturae illius. Per hos enim consummabitur 
structura turris. (P. 19.) 

Thus angels take the post claimed for St. Peter 
and his successors : the description of the mate¬ 
rials of the mystical temple is no less antipopish. 

Audi nunc et de lapidibus qui sunt in structura. La- 
pides quidem illi quadrati et albi, convenientes in com- 
missuris suis, ii sunt apostoli, et episcopi, et doctores 


Moore's u Irish Gentleman .” 213 

et ministri, qui ingressi sunt in elements Dei, et 
episcopatum gesserunt, et docuerunt, et ministraverunt 
sancte et modeste electis Dei. (P.20.) 

Here apostles, bishops, doctors, and ministers 
are placed on the same line; they are all lapides 

r 

quadrati et alhi, without any distinction for those 
who fdled particular situations. The vision of 
Hermas, therefore, sanctions the denial of su¬ 
premacy to the see of Rome. 

The preceding remarks refer to a limited por¬ 
tion of the Travels of an Irish Gentleman; hut if 
the collation of Hermas alone displays so much 
unfairness, what may not he expected from a 
close examination of the other fathers, so com¬ 
placently brought forward, to prove the aposto¬ 
lical origin of popery ? 


( 214 ) 


HINTS FOR NOVEL WRITERS. 


Of things in which mankind does most excel, 

Nature’s chief masterpiece is writing well. 
t Buckingham. 

Never were writers so numerous as in the 
present day; and yet how rarely do we find a 
composition at all approaching to perfection. 
Perverted taste is developed in affected phrases, 
where the rules of grammar are frequently 
violated, and perspicuity is set at nought. For 
this we are indebted to the negligence or inca¬ 
pacity of our critics ; many of whom enter upon 
the duties of that office with no other qualifica¬ 
tion than a facility of stringing together a few 
epigrammatical sentences : justly do they merit 
the application of the well-known lines— 

Some have at first for w its, then poets pass’d ; 

Turn’d critics next, and prov’d plain fools at last. 

Nor can we wonder that good taste in litera¬ 
ture should decay, when presumptuous men in 



215 


Hints for Novel Writers. 

possession of the press confine their efforts to 
the indication of supposed beauties; because, as 
they assume and assert, no talent is required for 
discerning faults. Instead of acting conscien¬ 
tiously as judges, in whom the public confide 
for impartial decisions to promote the welfare of 
the literary commonwealth, their occupation has 
become almost synonimous with that of salaried 
puffers, and their exertions are devoted to ad¬ 
vancing the interest of booksellers. Sterne was 
decidedly right when he observed, “The cant 
of criticism is most tormenting.” 

A notion, oft repeated like the cuckoo’s note, 
has been extensively adopted, to the great detri¬ 
ment of letters: it is “that comprehensive ideas 
should be formed, in judging a work; and that 
attention to minutiae is vulgar.” We should 
not search for flaws in the marble, while admir¬ 
ing a statue; ergo , say the disciples of this school, 
in examining a volume, it would be pitiful to 
scrutinize grammatical errors. Even anachro¬ 
nisms have their apologists, because a lofty ima¬ 
gination would be degraded by such trammels. 
They would have us view the whole, and form 
an opinion upon its general effect. As a natu¬ 
ral consequence, authors have become careless, 


216 


Criticisms. 


because critics are indolent; but if the latter 
would honestly discharge their duty, a dread of 
exposure would induce a more careful revision 
of all manuscripts, before the press gave forth 
the blushing author’s claim to admiration. 
There may be a fascination in literary fame, 
and real merit deserves to be appreciated; but 
let not the inexperienced writer suppose, that 
when his name is placed upon a title-page, he 
has thereby a warrant for renown. 

T is pleasant, sure, to see one’s name in print: 

A book’s a book, though there be nothing in’t 

And it is useless to allege the hollow pretence of 
anonymous publication, in order to refute this 
argument; for the secret is never intended to be 
kept. Daily we meet with advertisements to 
this effect: u Wet and warm, by the author of 
Moonshine;” while the pretended incognito is 
introduced by some such information as the 
following, in conspicuous type, “New work, 
by Mr. Fiddle.” 

There is, in fact, no anonymous publication 
in the present day, at least with novels and light 
works. 

Malo me Galatea petit, lasciva puella ; 

Et fugit ad salices, et se cupit ante videri. 

Virg. Eel. iii. 


Hints for Novel Writers. 217 

An author’s name must be known, and well 
known too, or the publishers will treat him with 
disdain; and it is principally with the view of 
obtaining a reputation among u the trade,” that 
literary men so resolutely labour to produce ef¬ 
fect by the extent, rather than by the excellence 
of their compositions. 

Were it intended to pursue this subject 
through all its ramifications, displaying the ad¬ 
vantages of which criticism is capable, and ex¬ 
posing the abuses which now attend it, we should 
have materials for a bulky volume : our re¬ 
marks shall therefore be confined to some of the 
obvious defects discernible in modern works of 
fiction; and particularly in that class which has 
within the last few years almost engrossed the 
attention of the scribbling multitude : we allude 
to the tales that fill our periodicals. 

Amonff these short lucubrations are occasion- 

a 

ally found an interesting episode, related in a 
chaste, correct style; and calculated to please 
by a glowing description, or to instruct by a 
moral lesson. But such are rare. How often 
do we meet with morbid subjects, highly 
wrought up, with the express design of exciting 
emotion. Frequently the merit of such pieces 


218 


Criticisms. 


is limited to a felicitous application of cant 
phrases or vulgar colloquy; and, to sum up, 
very many are merely new versions of old tales, 
decked out with adaptations to a different pe¬ 
riod. 

No general rule can he laid down for the mode 
of composing a work of imagination; but there 
are certain improprieties which an author should 
avoid, and which, when once pointed out, must 
stand as admitted faults. Let us therefore pro¬ 
ceed with the analysis, or rather the anatomy of 
a tale; confiding in the discernment of the writ¬ 
ing public to sanction our theory, and apply our 
observations as occasion may arise. 

And, first in order, we notice the bad taste 
evidenced in the titles affixed to books: they are 
often inappropriate, sometimes ridiculous. Even 
Scott is not free from blame in this particular; 
and the French translators of his works have in 
several instances given him a silent, lesson, by 
substituting reasonable designations to his no¬ 
vels. Cervantes, Lesage, Fielding, and the lite¬ 
rary fathers, never thought of wandering from 
their subject for a clap-trap title. Mais nous 
avons change tout cela, and an author now finds 
it no small part of his duty to baptize his pro- 


219 


Hints for Novel Writers. 

duction. “Your title must be judiciously se¬ 
lected,” observes the bibliopole with much gra¬ 
vity ; and invention is set to work for the pur¬ 
pose of discovering something calculated to ar¬ 
rest attention by its singularity. On the other 
hand, grotesque or extraordinary characters are 
often brought forward, apparently from a simi¬ 
lar motive. In fact, the last piece of this de¬ 
scription which has come under our view is en¬ 
titled The Chiffbnnier *. There is indeed a mem¬ 
ber of that humble class mentioned in the tale ; 

but he is introduced in complete disregard of 
# 

propriety— 

Lest men suspect your tale untrue, 

Keep probability in view. 

Gay. 

The chiffonnier in question is called upon to 
convey an infant to the Foundling Hospital! 
Every one in Paris knows that the midwife is 
invariably charged with the cruel commission; 
and there is no occasion to look for another 
agent, who would moreover expect to be well 
paid for his trouble, while a state of extreme 
want must be supposed as a motive to induce (as 
in this case) a married woman to abandon her 

* It appeared first in the Paris Sun-Beam , 25 June, 1837, and 
was afterwards reprinted in the Metropolitan. 


i 


220 


Criticisms . 


child. However we expected that our chiffon- 
nier was intended to perform some conspicuous 
part; and that the narrative would assuredly in¬ 
troduce some of the singular scenes of a rag-ga¬ 
therer’s life, as in M. Theaulon’s successful vau¬ 
deville, entitled Le Chiffonnier , in which Potier 
sealed his reputation. But no such thing,* our 
chiffonnier rarely appears, and, from the repre¬ 
sentation given, any other grade of society would 
have been better selected. Without any allusion 
to some freak of fortune, which might enable 
him to execute a design so far beyond his 
means, we are told that he adopts and educates 
the girl; and that his wife, differing from all 
the chiffonniers’ spouses ever before heard of, has 
not only the inclination, but the leisure, to con¬ 
duct the little foundling daily to church. Really 
from the perusal of this tale, a stranger to Paris 
would be led to imagine that a chiffonniers call¬ 
ing was rewarded with a decent competency. 

Next in order comes the epigraph or motto, 
which should at least contain some allusion to 
the matter treated. If placed upon the title- 
page, it ought to bear upon the general features 
of the book; at the head of a chapter, it should 
serve as a summary of its contents. Scott was ’ 


221 


Hints for Novel Writers. 

very happy in this particular, hut Bulwer is pe¬ 
dantic : what, for instance, can be more out of 
character than placing Greek and Latin quota¬ 
tions in works professedly intended for light 
reading? Italian and Spanish mottoes are scarce¬ 
ly less reprehensible. In some works it is diffi¬ 
cult to trace any affinity; while in others they are 
far-fetched applications, which, upon examina¬ 
tion, present about as much analogy as exists 
between Peter the Hermit and Peter the Great. 
The author of the Chiffonnier has laid himself 
open to censure for incorrectness in his extract : 
at the head of his tale is the following line: 

Look upon that picture, and on this. 

Shakspeare. 

Now it is unfair to refer to so voluminous a 
writer as Shakspeare, without stating from 
which of his plays the extract is made; but in 
Hamlet, Act III, sc. 4, we succeeded in finding 
the following passage: 

Look here upon this picture, and on this. 

If it were requisite to define how the interest 
of a story should be maintained, the task would 
be most difficult, if not impossible. Authors 
view a subject through varying media; some aim 


222 


Criticisms. 


at an easy flowing simplicity, and endeavour to 
captivate by graceful description ; others seek 
for effect, arrange their incidents dramatically, 
and strive to create surprise by the result. It 
is easy for experienced classical writers to con¬ 
fer a lively interest upon insipid every-day 
events; the resources at their command enabling 
them to ornament common-place subjects; in a 
word, they u give to airy nothings a local habi¬ 
tation and a name.” On the other hand, there 
are frequent instances where the author enlists 
in his cause malignant passions and horrible 
catastrophes. Like cripples who ride because 
they cannot walk; or mob orators, whose elo¬ 
quence consists in the strength of their lungs. 
Theodore Hook captivates hy merriment; Irving 
by an unaffected natural representation ; Cooper 
pleases by an animated series of incidents; Scott 
and Horace Smith, by graphic displays of inter¬ 
esting events; Bulwer commands our attention 
by placing his characters in trying situations; 
Marryatt by the humour of his anecdotes. And, 
if we turn from lengthy novels to minor produc¬ 
tions, the tales in the Annuals often embody 
pleasing scenes or affecting circumstances. The 
sketches of fashionable life we pass unnoticed, 


223 


Hints for Novel Writers. 

because personal satire is their chief ingredient; 
and, with very few exceptions, they are rarely 
read beyond tbe range of persons therein repre¬ 
sented, or at least by such as pretend to be com¬ 
prised in that class of society. 

It would be difficult to say in what respect the 
Chiffonnier is calculated to awaken the feelings. 
There is no tormenting doubt, no teazing mys¬ 
tery ; no apprehension is raised, no difficulty 
presented : almost every thing is left to the read¬ 
er’s imagination, except some trivial details 
which might be most advantageously suppress¬ 
ed. The father of the little girl destined for the 
Enfans-trouves is represented in one part as u re¬ 
siding on the second floor of a house of the bou¬ 
levard du Temple; in the prime of life and un¬ 
married.” Towards the close of the narrative, he 
exclaims that the chiffonnier’s adopted child is his 
lawful daughter; and that her mother, his wife, 
died a few days after parting with her infant. 
The story concludes by informing us, that “a 
modest tablet appears in Pere-la-Chaise, and not 
far from it another (!!!) The one indicates the 
spot where the remains of tbe comte and his 
unhappy lady are deposited; the other perpetu¬ 
ates the memory of the chiffonnier and his wor- 

i) 


224 


Criticisms. 


thy spouse. To this spot Albert and Josephine 
from time to time repair,” etc. etc. etc. 

Immortal Shakspeare ! Thy writings are an 
inexhaustible treasure.—No circumstance befals 
us which cannot be forcibly described by a quo¬ 
tation from thy pages; and to thee we must ap¬ 
ply for the means of best conveying the idea sug¬ 
gested by the perusal of the Cliiffonnier. 

Polonius.— What do you read, my lord? 

Hamlet. —Words, words, words l 

We hope that in his next piece, the author 
will be less determined on slighting his native 
language: he has a great fancy for using French 
words, where English would be equally expres¬ 
sive, and more harmonious. We find eglise 
used for church, and comte for count. The 
small portion of colloquy which it contains is 

most injudiciously composed; for no one anxious 

• 

to be satisfied upon the truth of an important 
statement would put leading questions, like a 
catechist who has already taught the answer he 
is to receive. 

We shall be brief in our notice of grammatical 
faults: there are several phrases in which were 
might be well replaced by would be. For in¬ 
stance, “such a proceeding, he could not help 


Hints for Novel Writers. 225 

feeling were unworthy of that frank and implicit 
respect,” etc.; again : u adequate estimation is 
impossible, and embellishment were superfluous.” 
These remarks may appear fastidious; but it is 
a disgrace to our national literature, that impu¬ 
nity can be expected for such defects. No 
French author would risk the almost certain 
ridicule; and for this we need only instance the 
taunts of cuir and cuirassier which attend an in¬ 
advertency in public speaking. No one is com¬ 
pelled to appear as an author; and those who 
come forward as competitors for public appro¬ 
bation, are in duty bound to avoid “ clipping 
the king’s English.” 

Another subject well worthy of consideration 
is the degree of latitude which, in a work of fic¬ 
tion, is allowed for departures from historical 
accuracy; in other words, there needs some good 
definition and delineation of the poetic license. 
This question has acquired much importance on 
account of the great and justly merited popula¬ 
rity of the Waverley novels, many of which 
contain some glaring historical errors. And un¬ 
fortunately for the public, a successful writer 

often becomes censurable on this head, from the 

15 






22G 


Ci iticisms. 


facility with which he closes a bargain with his 
publisher: his sale is assured before he puts pen 
to paper; and his manuscript is not revised with 
sufficient care. One instance will suffice to 
justify this observation: Capt. Marryatt, in Snar- 
ley Yow (chap. 43), alludes to the duke of Glou¬ 
cester as onhj son of William III; while scarcely a 
boy of seven years old is ignorant of the title in¬ 
variably borne by the heir^-apparent of the Bri¬ 
tish crown; and any one with a very superficial 
acquaintance with history must know that king 
William had no child. 

Ere we indicate some mistakes unnecessarily 
wide of the mark, it may not he amiss to notice 
the great difference between the novels of the 
old and those of the new school. The works of 
Lesage, Fielding, De Foe, and Smollett, are well 
known and widely circulated; nobody reads them 
without pleasure, and they all contain so true a 
representation of nature, that scarce an incident 
is to be found in them, which has not really oc¬ 
curred; while in concentrating events into the 
experience of an individual, the illusion is not 
exposed to detection, as the names are all ficti¬ 
tious. At the same time, the satisfaction with 
which we read the Arabian Nights, the Old Enc- 

yj ' 


227 


Hints for Novel Writers. 

lisli Baron, and other decided romances, is a 
proof that bare undisguised fiction is allowable. 
Were further evidence required, the popularity 
of the Pilgrim’s Progress might be referred to. 

Why then, it may he asked, is the author of 
Waverley to be censured for a few anachro¬ 
nisms ? Precisely for the reasons which have 
contributed so much to his celebrity: his novels 
are descriptions of the manners of given periods, 
and fanciful accounts of particular events; which 
events, being in general so well known to have 
occurred, afford the means of detecting any 
misstatements respecting them. The novels of 
the old school are read almost exclusively for 
entertainment, by the multitude; while they af¬ 
ford instruction to the few r , who, like the stu¬ 
dent in the preface to Gil Bias, know how to 
look below the surface for hidden treasure. On 
the other hand, the Waverley novels, and those 
composed upon that model, are historical in their 
nature, and become of public importance from 
the feelings they excite. The ancestors of many 
existing families figure in some of them; and 
there are few persons who can read unmoved 
the description of scenes in which their fore¬ 
fathers w r ere concerned. And this observation 



228 


Criticisms. 


extends to all classes, for our lines of ancestry 
are all equally long, although all may not be 
equally able to trace the pedigree. The most 
humble Englishman, whose name implies a Sax¬ 
on origin, must feel indignant at the haughty 
hearing of the Normans, while reading Ivanhoe; 
and a native of Wales will certainly experience 

strong emotions as he peruses the tale of The 

* 

Betrothed. 

The writings of sir Walter Scott abound with 
most beautiful descriptions of the passions, in 
his personages; and contain unrivalled land- 
scape-like accounts of the places where his scenes 
are laid—they need no eulogy in this humble page; 
but as they are the lure to entice the thought¬ 
less reader to the study of past times, it appears 
more necessary that the historical observations 
interspersed should be correct. To analyse the 
whole series of the Waverley novels is needless; 
it may suffice to indicate the defects of a few, 
and a moderate degree of attention in perusing 
others will preserve the confiding reader from 
adopting as a record, that which is really poetry 
assuming the modest garb of prose. 

In the Talisman , king Richard, speaking of 
Philip Augustus, is made to call him Philip of 


Hints for Novel Writers. 229 

France and Navarre; and on another occasion, 
in the same tale, the French monarch swears by 
St. Louis , his grandson. Respecting the addi¬ 
tion of Navarre to the royal title, it is a de¬ 
cided anachronism ; for although Philip IV and 
Louis X possessed Navarre, it was quite distinct 
from the French crown until the accession of 
Henry IV; and even had Philip and his success¬ 
ors continued to enjoy that sovereignty, the 
error is equally palpable, as three generations 
existed between Philip Augustus and Philip IV. 

In the Fair Maid of Perth , the old glover and 
his daughter prepare to attend evening service at 
the Blackfriars church, when high mass is per¬ 
formed. It has escaped the author’s notice, that 
mass is never said in the evening; this is a posi¬ 
tive regulation of the church of Rome, to which 
there is but one exception—the midnight mass 
of Christmas eve; and this oversight is the more 
astonishing, as sir Walter had made it the sub¬ 
ject of a note to Marmion. The damsel’s con¬ 
fessor also appears under the name of father 
Francis; this is of trivial consequence, although 
it involves an improbability, for as the Domini¬ 
cans and Franciscans were always at variance, 
it would have been better to select another de- 



230 


Criticisms. 


signation for the confessor. It is hardly requi¬ 
site to observe, that on joining a convent, the 
neophyte assumes a new name; and a Domini¬ 
can would not place himself under the protec¬ 
tion of St. Francis. 

In Ivanlioe there is an error so glaring, that 
refutation is almost superfluous. Robin Hood 
comes in contact with prince John, and while 
they are speaking, a bystander calls out that he 
(Robin Hood) could hit Tyrrell’s mark at a hun¬ 
dred yards. Upon which we read: “ This al¬ 
lusion to the death of William Rufus, his grand¬ 
father, at once incensed and alarmed prince 
John.” Further on, when the prince receives 
a letter from the king of France, announcing 
king Richard’s enlargement, the seal is described 
as bearing three fleurs-de-lis. An antiquarian 
like sir W. Scott ought to have remembered 
that the arms of France were then semee ; and it 
was not until Edward III had quartered them, 
that they were reduced to three by Philip of Va¬ 
lois : our Henry IV afterwards made a similar 
alteration in his escutcheon. 

By some these observations may be deemed 
needless, if not impertinent; and such would be 
really their character, were they intended to dis- 


231 


Hints for Novel Writers. 

parage the writings of sir Walter Scott. But 
they are penned in a very different spirit. None 
can appreciate more than the writer, the value 
of the northern bard’s productions; for the 
charms he has thrown around our legendary 
history, have awakened a feeling of inquiry, 
which has led to rich discoveries in our annals. 
At the same time there may be some utility in 
displaying the blemishes in his narratives, as a 
beacon for his successors in that species of com¬ 
position. 

It is frequently said that “extremes meet;” 
and after noticing the most celebrated of novel 
writers, the reader’s attention is invited for a 
short time to the most insignificant—viz., the 
author of the Wouthful Impostor ,—a work abso¬ 
lutely unworthy of examination, excepting for a 
reason similar to that which causes a buoy to be 
placed over a sunken wreck. This novel was 
received with merited disgust; and although the 
author spared no effort to raise it into notoriety, 
the public could not be induced to purchase it. 

A French translation, made by the author’s 
order, and printed at his expense, was also 
without effect; and nearly the whole of both 
editions was sold as waste paper. 



232 


Criticisms . 


The story of the Youthful Impostor is found¬ 
ed upon the adventures of the i i Fortunate 
Youth,” whose reported acquisition of immense 
wealth caused so much noise in 1817. But the 
novel is throughout a miserable production, 
and has been justly declared “replete with bad 
taste, bad morals, and bad grammar.” 

The hero of the piece, less an impostor than a 
dupe, is represented as taking an active part in 
highway robberies, notwithstanding the harvest 
to be expected frt>m his projected scheme; while 
the character of his abettor and misleader is as 
unnatural as the genii of eastern romance. To 
notice the monstrous incoherencies of the tale 
would be tedious; the author is however consis¬ 
tent on one point—he most steadily adheres to 

the elegancies of the Slang Dictionary ; and in 

* 

almost every page there are colloquial specimens 
which testify an enthusiasm for vulgarity, and 
prove his incapacity to compose a work calcu¬ 
lated to obtain approbation or create interest 
among respectable readers. All the secondary 
characters are taken from low life, and converse 
in one and the same style. A sergeant of hus¬ 
sars is made to express his opinions like a coster¬ 
monger; an absurdity evident to all who have 


233 


Hints for Novel Writers. 

witnessed the manners and deportment of that 
class of men ; a female servant uses the terms 
frequently found in a highly charged police re¬ 
port, and an old country couple talk in the lan¬ 
guage of professed London thieves. 

The superficial trashy character of the work 
is rendered more striking by some silly attempts 
to display the author’s erudition. Alluding to 
Spinoza, he informs the reader, in a note, that 
he has read his works in Latin !!! And in per¬ 
fect keeping with the character of a coxcomb, 
he impertinently calls Abhadie, Paschal (sic) and 
Calmet, wretched scribblers (vol. ii, p. 77). In 
several passages are embodied sentiments and 
principles, which have been completely deve¬ 
loped in his own conduct. For instance : u The 
characteristic of an Englishman is the most stu¬ 
pid credulity, where impudence dare assert some¬ 
thing bordering on impossibility—that, is, as 
near impossibility as the sublime is to the ridi¬ 
culous; at all events mightily improbable.”— 
(Vol. i, p. 102.) Doubtless some calculation of 
this nature caused him to publish in a monthly 
magazine, that the Youthful Impostor had ob¬ 
tained extraordinary and unprecedented success; 
while all Paris knows that it would be difficult, 










234 


Criticisms. 


if not impossible to find, in the whole range of 
literary annals, a more signal failure. Never, 
in fact, was a presumptuous effort at authorship 
treated with more decided contempt. 

It may be proper to mention that this article was 
composed at three different periods. The first part ap¬ 
peared in the Pans Observer , 13th August, 1837. The 
observations on the Waverley novels were inserted, 
with a few subsequent alterations, in the Gentleman s 
Magazine for December, 1829. The concluding remarks 
have not yet appeared in print. 

Should it be objected that these strictures are too 
lengthy, considering their reference to unknown pro¬ 
ductions, the writer has only to observe that as he had 
no wish to injure the credit of any work in circulation, 
he selected the Chiffonnier and the Impostor from a 
motive analogous to that which causes the faculty to 
explain anatomical lectures over a dead body. And 
if, in addition, the charge of presumption should be 
advanced, he can only offer as excuse his desire to 
serve the cause of literature; and to that end he will¬ 
ingly resigns The Provost of Paris to the critic’s 
scalpel. 


( 235 ) 


REVIEW OF GERFAUT, 

A French Novel. 


A very small proportion of modern French 
literature being known to English readers, the 
above work has been selected as a fair specimen 
of the new school of novels—or, more properly 
speaking, romances; for although this class of 
authors pretends to copy nature with minute 
exactitude, there is no more truth in their 
sketches than is to be found in the Chinese 
landscapes, so extensively known by being co¬ 
pied on the blue earthenware, in very general' 
use throughout England, about thirty years 
since. 

■ / 

Formerly a novelist aimed at the production 
of a pleasing tale; and if, in the progress of his 
work, some painful scenes arose, his conclusion 
allowed the persevering reader to close the hook 
with a moderate degree of satisfaction. This, 
indeed, was considered so indispensable, that the 




236 


Criticisms . 


nuptial finale of a work of fiction became prover¬ 
bial. But the impediments arising from differ¬ 
ence of birth or station, from parental prejudices 
and the other thousand obstructions to the course 
of true love, which every school-boy knows 4 4 ne¬ 
ver did run smooth”—from reverses of fortune, 
and disasters from war, pestilence, or famine— 
in short all combinations by which men appear 
“ the sport of circumstances,” have given place 
to the new theory, under which the poet’s posi¬ 
tion is reversed, and 44 circumstances are the 
sport of man.” The systems and views of Le- 
sage, Cervantes, Fielding, and others, have been 
discarded by most modern French writers, as 
beneath their dignity : they require a far no¬ 
bler field, on which to exhibit the prowess of 
their hero; and a married woman is almost in¬ 
variably selected for displaying the gradations of 
Werterian sentimentalism, preparatory to the 
rich bouquet of adultery and murder, without 
which few of their attached readers would expe¬ 
rience the full portion of excitement, necessary, 
as they fancy, to their existence. 

Gerfaut is well written. The style is elegant 
—the arrangement displays talent and experi¬ 
ence—the language proves the rich stores of the 


Review of u Gerfaut .” 237 

author’s mind—and there is throughout abun¬ 
dant proof of his extensive acquaintance with 
both hooks and men. Yet we feel bound to 
state—and we make the assertion with repret— 

u 

his talents have been wasted, misapplied, per¬ 
verted in this novel. Wherever the march of 
the story calls for narrative, he is manly, digni¬ 
fied, and interesting; and he succeeds admirably 
in satirical touches upon peculiarities of charac¬ 
ter. Two scenes in particular establish his 
superior graphic powers—the eleventh chapter 
of vol. I is a rich specimen of mingled soliloquy, 
colloquy, and dispute; and the sixth chapter of 
vol. II, in which a convivial supper at the close 
of a shooting party is converted into a drunken 
brawl, is even superior. But with those ex¬ 
ceptions, nearly the whole work is a continued 
series of romantic libertinism ; a mawkish rifac- 
ciamento of sentiments, in great vogue during the 
regency and under Louis XV, but exploded by 
the serious turn imposed upon the public mind, 
in consequence of the convulsions at the close 
of the last century; and lately revived under 
a new garb, by a party thirsting for distinc¬ 
tion in the republic of letters, who, in despair 
of inventing something new, have palmed 


238 


Criticisms. 


upon the world their adaptations as sublime 
novelties. 

But who or what is Gerfaut? The quotation 
from the second act of Borneo and Juliet has 
been too much hawked about, by little would-be 
Shakspearians, to permit its introduction here. 
As the title of the work, it is moderately vapid ; 
but an author of fiction, holding in his pen the 
powers of life, death, and creation, cannot he 
reasonably denied the right of naming his pro¬ 
geny. The viscount de Gerfaut. is a libertine ; 
described, by his own confession, as reduced, at 
the age of thirty, to such a state of moral para¬ 
lysis that symptoms of decline and exhaustion 
assumed an intensity, under which he felt him¬ 
self sinking. He was, in a word, pining for 
want of excitement—he tried the gaming table 
without success, and at length undertook a voy¬ 
age to Switzerland, where, during an excursion 
to Mont-Blanc, he accidentally met the heroine 
of the piece. 

That lady, the baroness de Bergenheim, gifted 
by nature with every grace, and adorned by edu¬ 
cation with every accomplishment, is represent¬ 
ed, throughout the story, as imbued with a pro¬ 
per degree of horror for the snare which beset 


Review of u Gerfaut . ” 


239 


her conjugal fidelity. Yet Gerfaut proceeds like 
a skilful general besieging a town; he calculates 
with precision how long the defence will hold 
out; and ultimately so far attains his object, 
that resistance has ceased ; when the husband ap¬ 
pears, in time to prevent the completion of his 
dishonour—acquiring at the same moment the 
dreadful conviction that his wife’s affections are 
conferred upon her lover. 

If this romance is intended for a picture of 
modern manners (the scene is laid in 1832), it 
is a gross libel on the fair sex. No unlettered 
country girl, thus gradually assailed, could he 
ignorant of what was due to herself, her family, 
her religion ; and the most ordinary endowment 
of common sense would have taught any woman 
to avoid the evident impending danger. But 
the requirements of a novel arte incompatible 
with the dictates of mere prudence; and the 
author displays the venom of the modern 
school, in full operation on the mind and feel¬ 
ings of the baroness de Bergenheim. She re¬ 
peatedly declares in her conversations that her 
husband is kind, worthy, honourable—in every 
sense of the term, an excellent man; and yet she 
cannot love him. Her heart was not stipulated 



240 


Criticisms. 


for in her marriage contract, and she is there¬ 
fore at liberty to bestow it on one she deems de¬ 
serving. What an insult on women generally— 
on educated women especially, to suppose that 
such a husband as the baron de Bergenheim is 
represented, would not be deemed pre-eminently 
worthy. 

The march of the story may be entitled a Ma¬ 
nual of seduction. Its events unfold a system of 
infamous calculation and black ingratitude; and 
the author has so far forgotten himself, as to re¬ 
frain from stigmatizing such unprincipled con¬ 
duct. The disgust which every well regulated 
mind must feel at its perusal, is lessened by the 
consideration that such statements are fabulous, 
and that in real life there is no fear of meeting 
with anything approaching to it. Still, if his 
literary project demanded such preposterous vil- 
lany, his own feelings should prompt him to 
mark the seducer with an energetic reprobation. 
But no such thing: the conclusion of the vo¬ 
lume indirectly holds up his design as the readi¬ 
est method for an author to acquire that degree 
of imaginative fire, by which his productions 
will obtain the applause they deserve. 

After mentioning the astonishing success of 


241 


Review of u Gerfaut .” 

one of Gerfaut’s dramas, the author observes 
that “ he pursues his destiny on the road of re¬ 
nown, where one marches with an illuminated 
front, but with bleeding feet—for destiny always 
inflicts upon talent ” (why not say crime?) u suf¬ 
ferings which become its expiation. Most fre¬ 
quently the heart pays for the laurels of the 
head. Genius succeeds but ill in its tenderness; 
it brings misfortune to those it loves. Mirabeau, 
Byron, all men of bold spirits and energetic 
souls have exercised this fatal gift—all have ren¬ 
dered grief for love, despair for devotedness.” 
Vol. ii, p. 368. 

But it is requisite that some portion of the 
tale should be unfolded, or the author’s tender¬ 
ness for his hero will be but inadequately appre¬ 
ciated. Gerfaut, by one of those combinations 
which novel-makers ever have at command, ob¬ 
tains admission to the baron’s chateau. No 
guest can be more hospitably, more honourably 
received: he converses with the object of his 
unlawful pursuit, and finding her armed by a 
conviction of duty, he laments his sad destiny in 
an allegorical speech, addressed to the assembled 
family and guests; professes to abandon hope, 

and devotes his heart to despair. The lady, 

16 




242 


Criticisms. 


who alone possessed the key of the enigma, was 
so far affected as to look commiseration, and the 
ruthless libertine in consequence remained above 
an hour, watching the baron’s chamber-window 
—not for the purpose of invading the lady’s 
apartment, but to satisfy himself that she had 
not deceived him, by reclining on her lawful 
husband’s bosom. Can arrogance or stupidity 
go further? Indeed it can; for the author places 
the following extravagance in Gerfaut’s mouth: 

‘ ‘ She is alone—she has not had the courage to 
be thoroughly false. Surely Heaven protects us; 
for in my present state of exasperation, I would 
have killed them both ” ! ! ! 

And according to the story, he did kill both : 
the husband fell in the duel which followed the 
discovery of Gerfaut’s villany; and the baroness 
committed suicide, by throwing herself into the 
river. 

Hide your diminished heads, Walter Scott and 
Horace Smith! Your historical pictures and 
insipid conclusions are wearisome with their 
ever recurring benedictions of old folks sanction¬ 
ing the joy of happy couples! 

Retire, Marryatt and Hook! all we can draw 
from your writings, is a momentary laugh at 


Review of u Gerfaul 


243 


your broad jokes. The new school of French 
literature can alone produce a deep impression, 
and excite an ardent mind to despise all danger, 
in the career of glory —a term substituted, in the 
romantic vocabulary, for notoriety. 





( 244 ) 


LOUISE, 

Par la duchesse dAbrantes. 


The lady whose name appears as author of 
this romance, has acquired too much reputation 
to allow the supposition that her pen traced such 
a truly insignificant composition. Even in the 
most flagging periods of a meritorious author, 
there appear some occasional glimmerings of 
genius—some touches which bespeak the prac¬ 
tised hand and the cultivated imagination; but, 
in these volumes there is nothing—absolutely 
nothing superior to the correspondence of a 
hoarding-school miss'; excepting, of course, a 
certain familiarity with scenes of u the world,” 
to which young ladies in their teens are necessa¬ 
rily strangers. 

The substance of two octavo volumes may be 
thus condensed. Louise, wife of M. de Bran- 
ges, is beautiful, accomplished and virtuous— 



245 


Review of LL Louise .” 

her husband is a shameless libertine. His neg¬ 
lect, combined with her respectable standing in 
society, exposes the lady to some equivocal atten¬ 
tions on the part of a fascinating young man, 
who would still be without any hope of making 
any impression on the melancholy heroine, if her 
cousin, an Italian, did not contrive interviews 
and facilitate an intrigue, decidedly in opposition 
to the wishes of Louise herself. 

Her principles are, however, sufficiently firm 
for resisting the snare, and the amorous pre¬ 
tender is compelled to abandon all thoughts of his 
contemplated conquest; her danger appears at an 
end, when her husband is convinced of his mis¬ 
conduct, and a reconciliation takes place in conse¬ 
quence. Important affairs soon after compel him 
to pass some time in Italy; and his correspondence 
with Louise supposes a complete change in his 
character; while her letters to him bespeak a to¬ 
lerable degree of intellectual endowment, though 
deeply tinged with religious fervour. He re¬ 
turns—their meeting is of the happiest descrip¬ 
tion ; and none, but the writer of this novel, 
could imagine the possibility of another cloud 
bursting over the horizon of their domestic 
felicity. 






Criticisms. 


246 

But M.deBranges, being at the theatre, acci¬ 
dentally overhears a conversation, in which his 
wife and her cousin are represented in a malevo¬ 
lent light, and their intrigues displayed in glow¬ 
ing colours; at which the indignant husband 
assumes a terrible degree of importance. On a 
previous occasion (vol. ii, p. 14) he had re¬ 
marked his wife’s emotion on meeting her former 
admirer unexpectedly in company, when it is 
stated, that he formed an opinion en homme d'es¬ 
prit plulut qu’en mari jaloux. But now that idle 
gossip intimates his own former bad treatment as 
the motive which had estranged her affection, 
he is harrowed by jealousy; and having failed to 
elicit any information from the servants, he calls 
upon Louise, by letter, to pass judgment on her 
own conduct. 

The unhappy lady had never forgiven herself 
for thinking, at one moment, that her irrevoc¬ 
able tie to a despot was a bar to her happiness. 
In admitting her admirer s superiority, she never 
lost sight of her duty to her husband; but she 

had loved him, and on that account was severe 

% 

against herself. This she confessed in reply to 
the harsh demand of M. de Branges, whose deter¬ 
mination was speedily formed—they must sepa- 


Review of 44 Louise." 


247 


rate. No consideration, no appeal, can move 
him : she has made the first step; and as her 
pride or timidity prevented her going farther, he 
takes no account of her resolution to stop short in 
a career of error. He who had intrigued with 
a married woman, and openly bestowed his 
protection on an actress, can have no commiser¬ 
ation for her involuntary acceptance of homage 
and attention, the impropriety—the fatal ten¬ 
dency of which did not present themselves to 
her mind till afterwards; for it appears through¬ 
out that she never contemplated the meetings 
which took place. 

Yet this ungenerous husband does not scruple 
thus to reproach her : 4 4 And while it is prob¬ 
able that I am indebted to chance alone, that you 
are not entirely degraded, will you still have me 
esteem any thing in you?” (P. 250.) 

Before the final scene is alluded to, it must 
not be overlooked that Louise is portrayed as a 
very religious lady. She even condemns herself 
from Scripture authority ; having, as she con¬ 
sidered, 44 already committed adultery in her 
heart.” Those principles do not, however, pre¬ 
vent her forming and executing a project of sui¬ 
cide, by means of poison! ! 



248 


Criticisms . 


Rarely have the duties of a critic been directed 
to a more superficial, unsatisfactory composition. 
The most careful perusal of these volumes has 
failed to discover a single passage above medio¬ 
crity and common place. As for incident, there 
is none. The neglect and the return of a hus¬ 
band are not in themselves materials for a novel¬ 
ist. As accessories, they serve to fill up the pic¬ 
ture, but alone they are insipid. The author is, 
indeed, entitled to some credit for not displaying 
Louise as fallen; but, on the other hand, there 
is room for severe reproof, when a writer can 
describe the character and conduct of such a 
husband, without affixing thereto the strongest 
censure possible. 

These strictures may be deemed too harsh; 
being applied to the posthumous works of a 
lady, whose misfortunes give her strong claims 
upon our pity; but repeating the opinion with 
which these observations commenced, “ Louise” 
cannot be the production of madame d’Abrantes. 


( 249 ) 


ON THE EARL OF ESSEX, 


As dramatised by various Authors. 


§ I. — Le Comte d’Essex, par T. Corneille. 

In order to appreciate the character of a na- 
tion, to estimate its genius, and to form a cor¬ 
rect notion of its progress in civilization, a 
knowledge of its drama is indispensable: not a 
mere familiarity with pieces still popular, but a 
studious acquaintance with the productions of 
old authors, examined in their moral bearings, 
and placed in parallel with the writings of their 
successors, on the same or nearly similar sub¬ 
jects. A comparison between the compositions 
of English and French dramatists, especially in 

cases where the same incident has been treated 

♦ 

in both languages, will not fail to repay the time 
bestowed on the investigation ; and with this 
view the subject of the present article has been 
selected. It engaged the attention of Thomas 
Corneille, in 1678; and a piece, entitled Eliza - 







250 


Criticisms. 


beth d’Anglelerre, was successfully brought out 
at the Theatre-Francais, within the last few 
years. 

At present, our observations will be confined 
to the Comte d’Essex, by Thomas Corneille, who, 
although decidedly inferior to his brother Peter, 
derives some advantage from the reputation of 
the latter: their paternal name imparting a spe¬ 
cies of halo around their memory. There are 
some very fine passages in this piece; but the au¬ 
thor has not only sacrificed historical accuracy, 
he has trampled reason and probability under 
foot: for the sake of sentiment he has introduced 
extravagance. It is really to be lamented, that 
on a subject of such notoriety as the death of 
lord Essex, the dramatist did not condescend to 
keep within reasonable bounds; or feeling an ir¬ 
resistible desire to display the emotions of his 
imaginary characters, he has not selected a title 
less liable to test. The tale on which the play 
is based may be summed up thus : 

The earl, who entertains an ardent affection 
for Henrietta, one of the queen’s confidential 
attendants, is induced,through fear of Elizabeth’s 
uncompromising jealousy, to pretend love for 
the duke of Suffolk’s sister, who is banished with 


251 


On the Earl of Essex. 

Iier brother on the discovery of that attachment. 
Henrietta, on her side, sincerely loves Essex, 
and out of pure zeal for his happiness , decides on 
—the Englishman, accustomed to see nature 
faithfully portrayed hy the barbarian Shak- 
speare, will never imagine the classical determin¬ 
ation of this affectionate maiden—she marries 
the duke of Irion; and at a subsequent inter¬ 
view states, in allusion thereto : 

Pour 6ter contre vous tout prdtexte a l’envie, 

J'ai dO vous immoler le repos de ma vie. 

Acte 1, sc. 2. 

To prevent the celebration of this marriage, 
Essex had taken arms; yet he will not allow that 
reason, for fear the queen should also banish 
Henrietta from her court, a reason which must 
appear rather strange to an unsophisticated 
Englishman, who will be at a loss to comprehend 
why Essex should refuse to save his life on such 
easy terms. Queen Elizabeth meanwhile is suf¬ 
fering from an unfounded jealousy; she sees no 
other rival than Suffolk’s sister, and imagines 
that Essex has revolted, to resent her rigour to 
that lady: 

Au crime pour lui plaire, il s’ose abatidonner; 

Et ne veut a mes jours que pour la couronner. 

Acte 1, sc. 2. 





252 


Criticisms . 


This complicated charge on the queen’s part 
is, perhaps, rendered necessary by a blind at¬ 
tachment to the dramatic unities; all the scenes 
must imperatively pass in the palace, and the 
duke of Irton’s marriage cannot classically take 
place elsewhere. 

The earl’s attempt to raise the populace has 
given his watchful enemies their long-desired 
opportunity to effect his overthrow. His despe¬ 
rate enterprise has already excited the apprehen¬ 
sion of his friends, and particularly the earl of 
Salisbury, who warns him of the efforts made to 
ruin him. But Essex, conscious of innocence 
so far as concerns the queen and the state, is 
confident of her majesty’s consideration for his 
services; he ridicules the warnings of his friends, 
and refuses to adopt measures which would turn 
the tide completely in his favour. 

While Salisbury is the friend of Essex, Cecil, 
his decided enemy, is at work to inflame (he 
queen against him; of this Essex is well aware, 
yet does not cease to show his contempt for Cecil 
and his party, whom he thus addresses : 

Je sais que contre moi, vous animez la reine; 

Peut-6tre a la sdduire aurcz-vous quelque peine; 

Et quand j’aurais parl£, tel qui noircit ma foi, 

Pour oblenir sa grace, aura besom dc moi. — Acte 1, sc. 3. 


258 


On the Earl of Essex. 

At length an interview takes place between 
Essex and the queen, who, in spite of her indig¬ 
nation, is willing to protect him, yet expects him 
to call for her aid, before she can with propriety 
grant it. Essex will not, however, quit the high 
ground of conscious innocence, and when the 
duchess of Irton endeavours to persuade him 
into submission, he haughtily replies : 

Qui recoit un pardon, souffre un soupcon inf&me. 

Acte 2, sc. 7. 

After the council have reported their convic¬ 
tion of the earl’s guilt, and declared their con¬ 
viction that his death is necessary to the safety 
of the state, the queen becomes a prey to the 
contending feelings of wounded love and offended 
dignity; and she earnestly desires a pretext for 
extending to Essex the influence of her prero¬ 
gative : 

Qu’il fl<$chisse, il suffit; j’oublierai le pass£. 

Acte 3, sc. 2. 

Being fully resolved to maintain her dignity as 
queen, she is still determined to leave nothing 
undone which may lead Essex to sue for pardon; 
and Tilney, one of her (female) attendants is 
employed to work upon his feelings. The earl 
of Salisbury intercedes in his behalf; represents 



254 


Criticisms. 


the witnesses as suborned and unworthy of cre¬ 
dit, and pleads for his friend s life. The queen, 
unchanged, replies— 

Qu’il rentre en son devoir, on pourra l’^couter. 

.4cfe 3, sc. 3. 

So wonderful, however, is the force of love, 
that no limit can be fixed to its influence. Eli¬ 
zabeth is offended with Essex, principally be¬ 
cause, as she supposes, he wishes to elevate a 
rival to her throne; finding that no entreaties 
can soften his stubborn nature, she at last pro¬ 
poses to win his submission, by means of that 
very detested person. 

Je veux, je souffrirai qu it lui donne la main. 

Ibid. 

The duchess of Irton then relates the causes 
of her marriage, which instead of pleasing the 
queen, as her wounded love would induce every 
one endowed with common sense to suppose, in¬ 
censes her so much, that she declares him wor¬ 
thy of his fate, and resolves to sacrifice her feel¬ 
ings to her dignity. But affection soon regains 
its ascendancy, and the duchess is commissioned 
to persuade him. Essex, whose haughty no¬ 
tions of honour are indexible, disdains to ask for 
pardon; and his unbending spirit is well de- 


On the Earl of Essex. 255 

pic ted, in a dialogue between him and Salis¬ 
bury. 

Salisbury. 

En lui parlant de vous, j’ai peint votre innocence ; 

Mais enfin elle cherche une aide a sa cltimence. 

C’est votre reine; et quand pour fldchir son courroux, 

Elle ne veut qu’un mot, le refuserez-vous? 

Essex. 

Oui! puisqu’enfin ce mot rendrait ma honte extreme: 

J’ai vecu glorieux, et je mourrai dc mfime; 

Toujours inehranlable, et dddaignant toujours, 

I)e marker l’arr^t qui va finir mes jours. 

Salisbury. 

Yous mourrez glorieux! Ah,ciel! pouvez-vous croire, 

Que sur un ^chafaud vous sauvez votre gloire? 

Qu’il ne soit pas honteux, a qui s'cst vu si haut. 

Essex. » 

Le crime fait la honte, et non pas I’^chafaud. 

Acte \, sc. 3. 

The duchess of Irton is equally unsuccessful, 
and Essex takes leave of his friends, to proceed 
to the scaffold. 

Elizabeth is then exposed to the workings of 
her heart: her feelings prove stronger than her 
pride, and she sends a messenger to countermand 
the order for his execution, but he arrives too late. 

In examining this tragedy, a critic cannot fail 
to remark a great incorrectness in the author’s 
nomenclature. The machinery of the tragedy 
is altogether founded on a fiction; for Essex was 




256 


Criticisms. 


a married man, and had been so during a consi¬ 
derable part of the time he enjoyed the queen’s 
favour. His wife was the daughter of Walsing- 
ham, and widow of sir Philip Sidney; we may 
also presume she was a lady of some attraction, 
as she was afterwards married to the earl of Clan- 
ricarde. However, in supposing an attachment 
between Essex and a lady of the queen s court, 
the author, by poetic license, being at liberty to 
create a personage, was a fortiot'i authorized to 
give her a name of his own invention. We can¬ 
not, therefore, blame his fixing upon Henrietta , 
although that name did not come into vogue till 
some years later. But as the author determined 
on finding a husband for this fictitious lady, he 
should not have pitched upon the duke of Irion , 
as there never was an individual who bore that 
title. The fault is the less excusable, as neither 
the name nor the rank of the party were essential 
to the plot. 

We afterwards find that the earl of Salisbury is 
the friend of Essex, and Cecile (the French term 
for Cecilia or Cecily) is his enemy. Now the 
names of Cecil and Salisbury are so connected, 
that this appears incongruous. Besides which, 
the great statesman who has illustrated that 


257 


On the Earl of Essex. 

name, was then called lord Burleigh- and the 
earldoms of Exeter and Salisbury were not cre¬ 
ated for his family till the following reign. In 
the latter years of queen Elizabeth, there was 
neither duke of Suffolk nor earl of Salisbury ex¬ 
isting. Another confident of the queen’s is 
called Tilney, which must be considered as defi¬ 
cient in clearness; for if the dramatis persona did 
not style her confidante , it would be impossible 
to guess the sex of the character. Agnes, Cathe¬ 
rine, etc., would have been less dubious, and 
certainly not less poetical. 

In the plot there is much to condemn as im¬ 
probable. The resolution of Henrietta to marry 
Irton, in order to save Essex, is an extravagance 
which nothing can justify; however, according 
to the jurisprudence of England, as it is not 
proved to be impossible, we must admit its pos¬ 
sibility. But for a newly married person to 
suffer his wife to visit, unaccompanied, her for¬ 
mer lover in prison, and confined there for at¬ 
tacking the house in which his marriage had just 
taken place, is so absurd, that the name of Cor¬ 
neille alone could have preserved the piece from 
ridicule. Essex is at least consistent with his¬ 
tory, for he appears throughout ignorant of the 

17 





258 


Criticisms. 


duke of Irton’s existence, and no wonder, as he 
never could have heard of it; hut it would have 
added to the dramatic interest of the play, if 
some known enemy of his had carried off the 
prize; and if that could not he done, the duke 
should at least have exchanged a few words 
with the unfortunate earl. 

With the exception of some tolerably har¬ 
monious stanzas, in which are embodied senti¬ 
ments of an elevated character, this piece hardly 
merits notice; but at the time it was written, 
there may have been some excuse for such evi¬ 
dent ignorance of the- historical incidents. The 
French of that day were justly proud of their 
rising literature, then fostered by the institution 
of the Academie-Francaise; and provided the 
versification could defy criticism, little else was 
required. 

* 

§ n .—Elisabeth d’Angleterre, par M. Ancclot. 

This tragedy, moulded according to the rules 
of the classical school, and hailed, on its publica¬ 
tion, as a triumph over t he aspiring romanliques, 
was first performed in December, 1829. A 
century and a half had elapsed since the appear¬ 
ance of Corneille s drama; hut the termination 


On ihe Earl of Essex. 259 

of that long interval still finds the French genius 
resolutely bent on affixing the character and 

V u 

attributes of ideal personages upon individuals 
whose real history can be easily ascertained; and 
which, being very generally known in its promi¬ 
nent bearings, entirely destroys the dramatic 
illusion. 

If the actual scenes of life, whether borrowed 
from courts or villages, are incompatible with 
the requirements of scenic display, poets should, 
for consistency’s sake, abstain from their intro¬ 
duction. And if tragedies demand the exhibi¬ 
tion of unlawful affection, it is incumbent on au¬ 
thors to place their scenes in fabulous epochs, 
instead of misrepresenting remarkable periods of 
history, for which they appear to have a decided 
predilection—they will find ample materials in 
the range of fictitious characters. And if their 
aim be to excite sympathy or any other powerful 
feeling, they will have a better chance of success, 
when freed from the manifest contradictions and 
refutations which every spectator’s information 
can supply, to prove the visionary foundations 
of the plot. Who, for instance, can enter into 
an author’s views, when he portrays queen Eli¬ 
zabeth labouring under the weakness of jealousy, 




2G0 


Criticisms. 


and suffering under the agitation of a bewilder¬ 
ing passion in her seventieth year? 

M. Anceiot’s personages are somewhat better 
selected than those of Corneille ; but they are 
far from historical, notwithstanding the increased 
facility now enjoyed for becoming acquainted 
with the notabilities of the Elizabethan court. 
This is not, however, the author’s only fault. 
He has evidently misunderstood the character of 
the queen, no less than that of the unfortunate 
earl, the valorous although serious Essex, whom 
he represents as a Lothario! 

M. Ancelot has drawn some characters deci¬ 
dedly ideal, especially the duchess of Notting¬ 
ham, who is suffering less from the pangs of 
remorse for her criminal attachment to Essex, 
than from fearful apprehensions of the vindic¬ 
tive character attributed to her powerful rival. 
The duke, her husband, after courageously de¬ 
fending Essex against Cecil and Raleigh, ensures 
his death when he has discovered his wife’s infi¬ 
delity. The well known anecdote of the ring, 
which Essex sent to the queen by the countess of 
Nottingham, is made a prominent incident in 
this tragedy; but it is the duke who prevents its 
delivery; and he subsequently avows himself the 


On the Earl of Essex. 261 

cause of the earl’s death, in order to satisfy the 
vengeance claimed by his injured honour. Eli¬ 
zabeth herself is very feebly set forth—her allu¬ 
sions to the highminded sentiments infused into 
her disposition with the blood of Henry VIII, are 
too frequently repeated; and there is a total ab¬ 
sence of the magnanimity which even her ene¬ 
mies must admit she possessed. 

There is a deeply rooted propensity, among 
the French, to attribute the death of Mary of 
Scotland to Elizabeth’s jealousy of her personal 
charms; and they almost universally entertain an 
idea that the aged queen’s favour to Leicester 
and Essex arose from an intimacy altogether 
matrimonial in its nature, with the exception of 
the nuptial benediction; and to these opinions 
they are so obstinately wedded, that reasoning 
upon the subject would be useless. Another 
queen (Christina of Sweden) has been exposed 
to a similar calumny. But were it possible to 
adduce the most positive evidence that both were 
frigid vestals, it would have no effect on their 
characters as sovereigns. As a question of per¬ 
sonal worth, its only result would be to destroy 
much of the interest which is at present attached 
to the annals of their respective reigns; for it 


2G2 Criticisms. 

would annihilate the conflict of feelings with 
which they were necessarily assailed in the exer¬ 
cise of their power; and the trying situations in 
which each were placed would lose the merit 
ascribed to them, if, by subtracting the mild 
qualities of the sex, they are exhibited as different 
from the other daughters of Eve. Had either of 
these queens consented to accept a husband, 
her reign would probably have passed off free 
from the intrigues fomented by the prospect of 
an uncertain succession; but there is reason to 
suppose they were both endowed with minds of 
an uncommon cast; and their aversion to the 
married state is no justification of the aspersions 
east upon their memory by the fanciful theories 
of romancers and dramatists. 

Had M. Ancelot kept clear of historical events, 
his play might he considered good ; for it is well 
cast, and the composition has been highly praised 
by his countrymen. English history and Shak- 
speare’s dramas had however attracted so much 
attention in France, at the period this tragedy 
was in composition, that the author could not 
refrain from introducing incidents illustrative 
of the age and its particularities; and especially 
some allusions to Shakspeare, as contempora- 


263 


On the Earl of Essex. 

neous with the circumstances he displays. In 
the first scene, where the duchess of Nottingham 
is exhibited under mental depression, she is ac¬ 
costed by the countess of Suffolk : 

Hier, quel motif secret a pu te retenir? 

Avec nous, dans Southwark, pourquoi ne pas venir, 

Du bon William Shakspeare admirer Ies merveilles? 

Comme il cliarme, a la fois, les coeurs et les oreilles! 

Quel g^nie enfanta ces chefs-d’oeuvre divers! 

Et que n’oublierait-on en ^coutant ces vers? 

This remark draws from the duchess of Rutland 
an observation, unfolding the hostility of an ar¬ 
dent party against the drama; to which the 
countess replies : 

La reine 

Blama de vos conseils la rigueur puritaine; 

Et Shakspeare, dchappant a votre austdrit^, 

Enchantera son siecle et la postdrit^. 

This is very different from the expressions 
formerly current in the Parisian literary circles. 
The enthusiasm of the English in favour of the 
bard of Avon has, apparently, compelled mo¬ 
dern French writers to admit the value of his^ 
sterling genius. 


264 


Criticisms . 


§ III. — The Earl of Essex, by English 

Dramatists. 

It would be the height of extravagance, in 
an English author, to attempt an historical tra¬ 
gedy, without endeavouring to make himself 
master of the leading features of the epoch he 
purposes to represent; because it would be pre¬ 
posterous to come before th-e public with a dis¬ 
torted caricature of individuals whose names are 
u familiar as household words.” Besides which, 
experience has proved that a classical arrange¬ 
ment of narrative may be produced, without a 
blind adherence to the rules laid down for the 
regions of abstract poetry. On English sub¬ 
jects, we therefore expect to find something ap¬ 
proaching to historical tradition. The lan¬ 
guage used; the influences exercised; and the 
minor incidents revolving around the principal 
circumstance, may vary, according to the au¬ 
thor’s fancy; but, in every case where he in¬ 
dulges in a flight of imagination, it becomes in¬ 
cumbent on him to make use of fictitious per¬ 
sonages; and such, it will in general appear, has 
been the practice of our countrymen. 

The Earl of Essex , a tragedy, was published 


On the Earl of Essex. 265 

in 1761, by Henry Brooke, author of Gustavus 
Vasa; and another play, bearing the same title, 
was produced by Henry Jones, within a short 
distance from that period, as a fourth edition was 
printed in 1770. The cast of these pieces is so 
very similar, that an examination of one renders 
it needless to analyse the other. There can be 
no’ doubt as to the superiority of Mr. Brooke’s 
composition on the whole; although Mr. Jones 
may have given greater animation to some par¬ 
ticular scenes. They have both followed the 
received accounts; and, in each, the envy of 
Cecil and Raleigh is exhibited as the cause of 
the earl’s downfal. In each composition, the 
countess of Nottingham is excited by a deadly 
hatred towards Essex, who has mortified her va¬ 
nity by slighting her advances. 

Racked by a conflict of opposing passions, 

Strong love at length prevail’d.—Hear it not, Cecil! 

What thought would hide—where memory recoils, 

And scarce believes itself—I sent this man— 

I sent—Oh, death to modesty! I did send him 
My vows, myself, my soul a willing slave, 

In a fond letter. 

Brooke, p. 3. 


Words are unequal to the woes I feel, 

And language lessens what my heart endures; 
Passion, repuls’d with scorn and proud disdain, 


2GG 


Criticisms. 


Recoils indignant on my thinking soul, 

Beats back my vital springs, and crushes life. 

Jones, p. 7. 

Cecil’s project obtains a ready co-operation 
from the offended pride of the countess, who 
finally takes her revenge by keeping back the 
memorable ring—the pledge of queen Elizabeth’s 
protection. The fervent and sincere friendship 
which is generally attributed to Essex and South¬ 
ampton, present striking features in both tra¬ 
gedies; and, in placing the ring in the offended 
lady’s hand, Essex is described by both authors 
as entreating her to deliver it to the queen, with 
a prayer for Southampton’s life. The earl’s 
secret marriage becomes divulged by his wife, 
who, in imploring the offended sovereign’s pity, 
alludes to her husband; and Elizabeth’s indmna- 

■’ XJ 

tion at the discovery naturally figures as an im¬ 
portant agent in hastening the catastrophe. 
Thus far may be permitted for the poetic li¬ 
cence; but it seems strange that both these au¬ 
thors should stumble on the incongruity of styl¬ 
ing the lady in question countess of Rutland; for, 
according to the tenour of the play, she is sup¬ 
posed to be unmarried. It cannot even be in- 


267 


On ihe Earl of Essex. 

4 

ferred she is a widow, because, in her appeal to 
Elizabeth, she says: 

You cannot feel how dreadful are the terrors, 

The agonizing pangs of a fond wife, 

Who fears to lose the husband of her heart, 

Her first , her only love. 

Buookk, p. 55. 

If the performance was well sustained, the 
concluding scene must have been very stirring; 
for an extravagant phraseology may appear ex¬ 
tremely natural, if the features and gests are in 
unison with the violent agitated feelings de¬ 
scribed ; and the incoherent ravings of a maniac 
have, in some cases, constituted the principal 
attractions of a drama. 

Essex has expired; and the queen thus ad- 
di •esses the disconsolate widow : 

Do you know mo, Rutland ? 

Do you not know your queen ? 

Hut land. 

Oh, yes! the queen ! 

They say you’ve power of life and death—Poor queen ! 
They flatter you.—You can take life away; 

But can you give it back? No! no! poor queen! 

Look at these eyes! They are a widow's eyes — 

Do you know that? Perhaps, indeed, you’ll say, 

A widow’s eyes should weep, and mine are dry. 

That’s not my fault; tears should come from the heart; 
And mine is dead. I feel it cold within me — 

Cold as a stone; but yet my brain is hot. 






268 


Criticisms. 


Oh, fye upon this head! it is stark naught; 

Beseech your majesty to cut it off. 

The bloody axe is ready !—Say the word ! 

(For none can cut off heads without your leave) 

And it is done. I humbly thank your highness; 

You look a kind consent. I’ll but just in, 

And say a prayer or two. 

From my youth upwards, I still said my prayers 
Before I slept; and this is my last sleep. 

Indeed’t is not through fear, nor to gain time; 

Not your own soldier could meet death more bravely— 
You shall be judge yourself. We must make haste; 

I pray be ready. If we lose no time, 

I shall o’ertake and join him on the way. 

Brooke, p. 75. 


There is another drama on this subject; the 
concluding scene of which is familiar in all our 
schools, from the extract given in the Speaker . 
Repeated endeavours to procure a copy of this 
tragedy have been fruitless—residing at a dis¬ 
tance, and being ignorant of the author’s name. 
The farewell between Essex and Southampton, 
by this author, is in a more elevated style than is 
to be found in the lines of Brooke or of Jones: 
although extensively known, a short extract 
claims a place here. 

After the order for execution is announced, 
Southampton receives a pardon, which causes 
him to exclaim— 


209 


On the Earl of Essex. 

Southampton. 

Oh, my unguarded soul 1 sure never was 
A man with mercy wounded so before. 

Essex. 

Theu I am loose to steer my wand’ring voyage; 

Like a bad vessel, that has long been cross’d 
And bound by adverse winds, at last gets liberty, 

And joyfully makes all the sail she can. 

To reach its wish’d-for port. Angels protect 
The queen l for her my choicest prayers shall be. 

That, as in time she spared my noble friend, 

And owns his crimes worth mercy, may she ne’er 
Think so of me too late, when I am dead. 

Again, Southampton, let me hold thee fast. 

For’t is my last embrace. 

Limited space precludes an insertion of the 
entire dialogue between lord Southampton and 
his friend, who, in conclusion, thus addresses 
him: 

Farewell to thee! 

Essex. 

Then let us part; just like two travellers 
Take distant paths; only this difference is. 

Thine is the longest, mine the shortest way— 

Now let me go.—If there’s a throne in heaven 
For the most brave of men and best of friends, 

I will bespeak it for Southampton. 

The reader can now compare the several 
modes adopted by dramatists, at different times, 
for exhibiting a most interesting period of our 
history. Corneille’s ideas may be most elegantly 



270 


Criticisms . 


expressed; and Ancelot’s imagination may ap¬ 
pear very elevated in the estimation of his admi¬ 
rers; but the humble pretensions of the English 
authors manifest a more correct estimation of hu¬ 
man passions; and while their scenes and posi¬ 
tions are equally touching, the outlines of their 
drama are unquestionably more free from in¬ 
consistencies and improbabilities, setting aside 
all examination on the ground of historical fide- 
lity. 


( 271 ) 


OTHELLO, 

Translated by count Alfred de Vigny. 


Franc?: has hitherto had but a faint notion 
of Shakspeare ; his works have been criticised 
with severity, and his lasting popularity with 
his countrymen has been the subject of repeat¬ 
ed sneers. Several of his dramas have been 
used as u old materials” for constructing tra^e- 
dies according to the French taste; hut, ex¬ 
cepting the few representations given by English 
performers, there has been no other opportunity 
for the Parisians to estimate his writings, than 
the perusal of what is never strictly followed on 
the stage; and in reading Shakspeare, the mul¬ 
titude were necessarily compelled to avail them¬ 
selves of the uncertain medium of a translation, 
the value of which may be inferred from Loves 
last Shift being rendered La derniere Chemise de 
TAmour, by some wholesale French i her of the 

/ V 

British drama. 









272 


Criticisms. 


M. de Vigny, by his translation of Othello , has 
enabled the French actors to follow and imitate 
the best English tragedians; and thus, by the 
assistance of well-studied gesticulation, explain 
the presumed ideas of the author. But in so 
doing he has exposed himself to the clamours of 
prejudice—'to the severe remarks and cutting 
epigrams of the enthusiastic admirers of Racine 
and Corneille—and to the overwhelming accu¬ 
sations invariably arrayed against an innovator. 

The drama is often described (correctly or fal¬ 
laciously) as a means of public instruction; for 
consistency’s sake, therefore, nature should be 
represented veluti in speculo; and if by sacrificing 
the classical unities, a more faithful imitation 
can be given, it will be found necessary, sooner 
or later, to abandon them as essentials. 

The French literati are at present divided into 
two parties—the classiques and the romantiques. 
The latter maintain the necessity of a change, 
while the former are not only unyielding upon 
the unities, but profess the most decided aversion 
to the “barbarous usages” of the English drama. 
They would have a catastrophe announced ra¬ 
ther than exhibited; and they dislike the change 
of scene—as their views of good taste are mould- 


Othello. 


273 


ed upon the Greek poesy, the same spot should 
serve successively for all the interlocutors. 

Their opposition to a translation from Shak- 
speare would therefore he very violent, but it 
does not seem reasonable that the multitude will 
dislike the introduction of variety in the deco- 

41 

rations, or express dissatisfaction because, in 
Othello , the scene changes from Venice to Cy¬ 
prus. The classical party has, in addition, 
blamed Shakspeare for descending suddenly from 
a high pitch of tragic sublimity to the low mer¬ 
riment of a farce. Those, however, who make 
this objection, forget that such a transition is 
often necessary to prevent the attention from 
flagging. The introduction of a popular collo¬ 
quy frequently enables the spectator to become 
fully acquainted with the progress of the narra¬ 
tive; and as well arranged lights and shades are 
necessary to produce a good effect in painting, 
an admirer of Shakspeare is justified in main¬ 
taining, by analogy, that the pathos and dignity 
of his poetical scenes are uninjured by their 
juxta-position with comic dialogues. 

Each gives to each a double charm, 

Like pearls upon an Ethiop’s arm. 

M. de Vigny having endeavoured to follow 

18 


274 


Criticisms. 


the version adopted in London, any analysis 
would be superfluous. In several instances he 
has found it difficult to avoid a rather free para¬ 
phrase ; but on the whole it is as close a trans¬ 
lation as is consistent with the rules of French 
rhythm, which require a hemistich in every 
line, and the alternation of couplets ending with 
male and female syllables. Poeta nascitur does 
not apply to the French school; for a long and 
tedious training is requisite to become familiar 
with the intricacies of the Gallic Parnassus. 

The Parisian journalists, with only one or two 
exceptions, have engaged, heart and hand, in 
severely criticising this composition: it is princi¬ 
pally in their columns that the ira classica dis¬ 
plays itself; for the public appears neither to 
partake of their zeal nor to adopt their opinions, 
hut content themselves with occasionally ex¬ 
pressing displeasure at such of the scenes as they 
consider derogatory to lauditoire le plus police ci 
le plus spirituel du monde !!! 

In an account of the first representation, the 
Journal de Paris remarks : u Notwithstanding the 
multiplicity of events, which lengthen beyond 
measure the representation of the Moor of Ve¬ 
nice, this production of a wild genius (whose 


Othello. 


275 


sublimity is proclaimed by all the nations of Eu¬ 
rope) has not failed, on the theatre where shine, 
and where doubtless will ever shine, Corneille, 
Racine, and Voltaire. Like the talents of the 
English iEschylus, the success of the piece has 
offered enormes inegalites .” On the second re¬ 
presentation, the public opposition was confined 
to the closing scene, and even then the disap¬ 
proving voices are stated to have been covered 
with the plaudits of an overwhelming majority. 

As the subject of Othello is familiar to the 
Parisians, the hostility displayed towards this 
translation is to be found in and explained by 
national prejudice. Voltaire had condemned 
Shakspeare; and therefore it was quite natural 
that the journalists should censure M. deVigny. 
The Corsaire is foremost in the attack, and the 
writer’s feelings may be estimated from the fol¬ 
lowing expression: “If a new species of tragedy 
must be introduced, although it may differ from 
Racine, it certainly will not resemble Shak- 
speare.” 

When Ducis composed his Othello, lie rejected 
Shakspeare as a model; he has preserved no 
name of the original besides that of the Moor; 
and has displayed no judgment in the appella- 



27G Criticisms. 

lions he has substituted, or he would not have 
given a Gothic name (Odalbert) to a Venetian 
senator. The interest of the event, in his ver¬ 
sion, turns on Hedelmone’s promise to marry; 
and, contrary to all reason and probability, 
Othello’s jealousy is excited before the marriage 
is celebrated. Odalbert is enraged that his 
daughter Hedelmone should have fixed her affec¬ 
tions on the Moor; but instead of using his pa¬ 
ternal authority to prevent the marriage, he 
adopts a plan which, although it may be very 
classical, is decidedly absurd—he threatens, in 
his daughter's presence, to commit suicide, if 
she does not sign a paper binding herself to re¬ 
nounce Othello, and marry the individual he 
may name. 

Odalbert having offended the senate, is com¬ 
pelled to fly; and Hedelmone entreats the doge’s 
son, Loredan, to assist her father, giving at the 
same time her own jewels, to obtain a supply of 
funds for her parent’s use. Loredan is the lover 
of her father’s choice; and after Othello’s mar¬ 
riage, a feeble imitation of Iago, named Pezare, 
kindles jealousy in the bosom of the Moor. 
The production of the letter before mentioned, 
and the discovery of Hedelmone’s jewels on the 


Othello. 


277 


person of Loredan, complete his desperation, and 
he stabs her with his poniard. An explanation 
o( Pezare’s treachery arrives too late; and when 
Odalbert, unconscious of what has happened, 
consents to his daughter’s marriage with Othello, 
the unhappy Moor destroys himself. 

Ducis completed his task at the close of 1792, 
and his tragedy was then considered too terrific 
for representation. The Parisians, who were 
witnesses of the horrors of the revolution—who 
had the guillotine en permanence before their 
eyes—could not endure the simulated murder 
of a woman on the stage. 

A foreigner cannot pretend to give an opinion 
on the merits or defects of French phraseology 
and versification; but several passages have been 
noticed as faulty by the Paris journals: among 
others, Othello’s remark on hearing the alarm— 
u Silence that dreadful hell!” which is rendered 
faites taire a Vinstant cette cloche insensee —trans¬ 
ferring to the hell itself the feelings of those 
who had rung it. In compliance with that cen¬ 
sure, the line was altered, on the second repre¬ 
sentation, to cette entente insensde . Other parts 
have experienced similar criticisms; particularly 
“the wedding sheets,” which are rendered ha - 


278 


Criticisms . 


bitsde noce ; and the “song of the willow,” which 
is called une chanson de saulc. Had the translator 
confined himself to prose, these errors would 
have been less excusable, because more easily 
avoided; but then he would have encountered a 
much more violent opposition from the clas - 
siques. 


November, 1829. 


( 279 ) 


GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS 


si tragedy by Lucien Arnault. 


Historians, poets, orators, el hoc genus omue y 
have made Gustavus Adolphus the subject of 
their lucubrations; it is not therefore astonish¬ 
ing that the event which terminated his career 
has engaged the attention of a French dramatist. 

The rev. Walter Harte, about seventy years 
since, wrote the history of his life ; in which, 
if he had devoted as much attention to style and 

composition, as he has to profound research, he 

« 

would have produced a masterpiece; he has, 
however, fulfilled the more important branch of 
his duty as a biographer, and has, in conse¬ 
quence, considerable claims upon public grati¬ 
tude ; at any rate, he has the approbation of those 
who can duly appreciate laborious inquiry, al¬ 
though unaccompanied with the graces of rheto¬ 
ric; or even the tinsel of fiction, that essential to 



280 


Criticisms. 


the popularity of a modern book. Mr. Harte’s 
account of (he death of Gustavus maybe summed 
up as follows : 

On the 29th October, 1632, Gustavus took 
leave of his queen at Erfurt, and set out for 
Naumburg : his rapid advance from Bavaria was 
unexpected by Wallstein, the imperialist gene- 
ral, who had then detached a division under 
Pappenheim, to take possession of Halle. Gusta¬ 
vus having intercepted a letter containing orders 
for a division of the imperial forces to hasten to 
Halle, and advance with Pappenheim to join the 
main body, he immediately decided on attacking 
Walstein while his troops were scattered. The 
fifth of November was occupied in advancing; 
and by the evening of that day, the armies were 
in presence on the plain of Lutzen, and separa¬ 
ted only by the high road from Leipsic, on each 
side of which was a deep ditch. Gustavus passed 
the night in his coach. His intention was to 
attack the enemy before dawn, but a thick mist 
prevented him. He had divine service perform¬ 
ed early; and at nine o’clock rode through the 
lines, and harangued his soldiers; he then put 
himself at the head of the right wing, accompa¬ 
nied by the duke of Saxe-Lauenburg, several 


Gustavus Adolphus. 281 

aides-de-camp, and a few of his household. 
When the action had commenced, he observed 
that some of the brigades did not advance like 
the others, to pass the ditch ; he rode up and 
called out to them to stand firm, at least, and see 
their master die. The king’s address had the 
desired effect; he advanced against the enemy, 
and soon received a mortal wound. Pappen- 
heim arrived during the engagement, but with 
only a part of his division; he took his favourite 
post (that opposed to Gustavus), but while giv¬ 
ing some orders, was struck by a falconet ball, 
which caused his death. Piccolomini remained 
on the field till the last; he received several 
wounds, but would not retire; he even attempt¬ 
ed to carry off the dead body of Gustavus.’’ 

Lauenburg is accused of being concerned in 
the king’s death: a story is related of a personal 
affront he received from Gustavus, which ex¬ 
cited his resentment. This anecdote may suit a 
romance, and is thought to have had its origin 
south of the Alps; se non e vero, e hen Irovalo. 
Riccio (de Beilis Germanicis ) declares it an old 
woman’s fable. As all who were near Gustavus 
perished, except Lauenburg, who immediately 
rode out of the battle, without communicating 



282 


Criticisms. 


the circumstance to duke Bernard of Weimar, 
or the Swedish general Kniphausen, the Swedes 
to this day believe that he gave some signal, and 
was thus accessary to the event; but whether 
his motives were founded on a private injury, or 
in fanaticism for the imperial cause, cannot, at 
this distance of time, be determined. 

To confine a dramatist to historical fact would 
be unreasonable, as some latitude is necessary 
for the play of imagination; hut in the present 
case, the uncertainty which hangs over the king's 
death, justifies the introduction of even doubtful 
circumstances. M. Arnault represents Lauen- 
burg as smarting with a recollection of the in¬ 
jury he had received from Gustavus, who gene¬ 
rously apologizes to him. Such magnanimity, 
however, places the duke in a dilemma, as he 
has been ordered by a secret tribunal to kill the 
king. While in a state of suspense, he is re¬ 
minded of his duty by Frederic, a fanatical stu¬ 
dent, who, fearing the duke’s irresolution, de¬ 
cides on committing the act himself; he ad¬ 
vances to the tent where Gustavus is asleep, and 
fires at him, hut without effect; he is then ar¬ 
rested, tried, and condemned. On the trial, it 
appears that the pistol he had used belonged to 


283 


Gustavus Adolphus. 

Lauenburg, then presiding; but the young en¬ 
thusiast, in order to serve his cause, finds an 
excuse, and congratulates himself that he leaves 
behind him one who is bound to do the same 
deed. While Frederic is awaiting the order 
for his execution, the king enters and gives him 
a free pardon, which act makes him as enthu¬ 
siastic in his favour, as he was previously ardent 
in his hostility. 

The next incident which M. Arnault has in¬ 
vented, is the arrival of a deputation from Swe¬ 
den, exhorting Gustavus to put an end to the 
war. He declares his intention rather to abdi¬ 
cate, which so moves the deputies, that they 
cease to oppose his views ; the young Christina 
is publicly declared his successor, and the crown 
is solemnly placed on her head by her father. 
Public prayer is then made. The signal for 
engagement is given, and Gustavus is soon after 
brought in, mortally wounded—Lauenhurg hav¬ 
ing given the concerted signal to the enemy. 
The king continues to give orders, lives to hear 
the shout of victory, and dies in the embraces 
of his wife and daughter. After his death, Pie- 
colomini is introduced, and surrenders his sword 

s 

to the royal corpse. This anecdote is borrowed 


284 


Criticisms. 


from Duguesclin; but though quite unfounded 
respecting Gustavus, it is perfectly consistent 
with the personal respect entertained for him 
by many of his enemies. 

This tragedy is decidedly of the classical 
school, excepting, of course, the substitution of 
the pistol for a dagger. Without a single change 
of scene, the whole tragedy is represented in a 
large tent, decorated with the Swedish arms. 
It is true, that hy occasionally drawing a curtain, 
a camp is rendered visible; but with that excep¬ 
tion, the conversations and interviews of Gusta¬ 
vus, the consultations of conspirators, the trial 
of a criminal, preparation for his death, public 
prayers, and finally the death of Gustavus, all 
take place in the said tent. The language is 
dignified and harmonious; many fine sentiments 
are embodied; audit is something in favour of 
the piece, that it contains very few of those te¬ 
dious speeches in rhymed prose , which so fre¬ 
quently become an annoyance in French compo¬ 
sitions. However, the principal beauties of this 
tragedy bear so much resemblance to approved 
parts of successful dramas, particularly Epicharis 
and Marino Faliero , that without precisely in- 


285 


Gustavus Adolphus. 

curring the charge of plagiarism, the author can 
scarcely claim the merit of originality. It was 
well received at its first representation, but 
French critics are divided in their opinions re¬ 
specting its merit. 


January, 1830. 



( 286 ) 


1IIST0IRE DES CROISADES CONTRE LES 

ALBIGEOIS, 

Par J. J. Barrau et B. Darragon. 


The two octavo volumes of which the above 
work consists are interesting, whether their sub¬ 
ject be considered in a political, a military, or a 
theological point of view. It is however neces¬ 
sary to observe at the commencement of this 
notice, that the title is not altogether borne out 
by the contents; for the composition cannot he - 
correctly termed a history. Many very touching 
episodes are unfolded, and by the aid of legen¬ 
dary poems and old chronicles, various scenes 
have been displayed, from which some notion 
may be formed of the manners of those times ; 
hut the descriptions of military life which are 
given in these pages create a feeling of regret, 
that the Albigenses themselves were not more 
frequently introduced, to justify their conduct, 



28 ? 


The Albigcrises, 

according to their known or supposed principles; 
and to perform the parts of influential orators 
or active chiefs, instead of merely filling a pas¬ 
sive part, and appearing only as victims. 

Politically considered, this crusade is a highly 
important epoch in the French annals. It does 
not appear that either the Merovingian or Carlo- 
vingian kings entertained the least idea of the 
advantages to be derived from the territorial 
unity of their country. The English heptarchy 
was gradually brought under the sway of a 
single sceptre ; and the successive unions of the 
little Saxon kingdoms were followed by an amal¬ 
gamation which it became the constant policy of 
succeeding dynasties to consolidate. On the con¬ 
trary, the sovereigns of the Franks divided their 
dominions by will or donation, and altogether 
disregarded the national interests in their family 
arrangements. But after the accession of Hugh 
Capet, the monarchical principle began to take 
root — its advantages were comprehended, and 
the subjugation of the entire territory, under 
one authority, was thenceforward the object of 
his policy and that of his successors. 

In the twelfth century, there was but a small 
portion of France positively acknowledging the 




288 


Criticisms . 


government, of the French king. Several 6f the 
provinces were under the sway of the Plantage- 
nets; others were independent of the crown, 
with the exception of the slender tie of feudal 
homage; and the southern districts, which at 
that period spoke the Romance language, or Lan- 
gue d’Oc, formed a powerful state. The work 
now under notice thus describes that territory, 
over which the count of Toulouse exercised full 
sovereignty. u His domain, unequalled among 
the great fiefs of the kingdom, occupied the mar- 
quisate of Gothia, afterwards called Languedoc; 
the duchy of Narbonne, which gave him the 
rank of first lay peer; the county of Venaissin, a 
dependence of the German empire; part of Pro¬ 
vence ; the counties of St. Gilles, Foix, Commin- 
ges, the Albigeois, the Vivarais, Gevaudan, Ve- 
lay, Rouergue, Quercy, and the Agenois; the 
two latter provinces were united to the princi¬ 
pality of Toulouse by the count’s marriage with 
Jane, widow of the king of Sicily, and sister of 
Richard king of England.”—(Vol. i, p. 6.) 

Such was the dominion of Raymond YI, count 
of Toulouse; beloved by his subjects, he pos¬ 
sessed the authority of a king, and was allied to 
most of the reigning families. His military 


289 


The Albigenses. 

talents did not surpass what might be expected 
from the time in which he lived; hut it cannot 
he doubted that, by the cultivation of his mind, 
he was superior to that age; and in considering 
the heroic firmness with which he displayed his 
attachment to religious liberty, it is to be deeply 
regretted that he did not live two centuries later. 
His encouragement to the Vaudois became ulti¬ 
mately the cause of those misfortunes which af¬ 
flicted Languedoc; and the apostles of reformed 
Christianity were exposed to the chances of an 
unequal contest, before the general condition of 
society could afford them protection. 

In 1194, when Raymond succeeded to his 
patrimony, the Vaudois had made great progress; 
and for half a century a struggle had been main¬ 
tained between the superstitions of popery and 
the scriptural opinions which, at a later period, 
were moulded into protestantism. The clergy, 
on account of its ignorance and debaucheries, 
had fallen into such profound contempt, lliat a 
superficial examination of the opposing doctrines 
was sufficient to win assent, whenever a parallel 
was attempted between the true catholics and 
those who were designated as heretics. 

The pope and the king of France were equally 

19 





290 Criticisms. 

interested in terminating such a state of affairs. 
Innocent III trembled for the fate of the ecclesi¬ 
astical power; and Philip Augustus could not 
calmly behold a rival authority raised beside his 
—their efforts were united for the purpose of 
crushing Raymond VI. 

To extinguish the first rays of a pure religion 
was the principal object of the Vatican ; because it 
was evident that the papal authority would soon 
he despised, if the people were once taught u to 
give a reason of the hope that is in them.” Bulls, 
excommunications, interdicts, rapidly followed 
each other; and every species of seduction was 
employed for enlisting in the crusade a horde of 
ferocious men. Philip ardently seconded the pon¬ 
tiff’s views; he urged his barons to ravage Lan¬ 
guedoc, and reduce it, by partition, to such a 
feeble state, that the royal power might after¬ 
wards subjugate it with little difficulty. As this 
combination was attended with success, it would 
be idle to speculate on the results which might 
have followed the establishment of religious 
liberty at Toulouse. 

Examining, in a military point of view, the cru¬ 
sade against the Albigensesor Vaudois, the sub¬ 
ject embraces nearly every incident of the war ; 


291 


The Albigenses. 

for the interference of the legates and clergy was 
very often connected with military movements. 
Under all circumstances, the mission of the eccle¬ 
siastics was to promote measures for subduing 
the heretics—and when subdued, however par¬ 
tially, the clergy were always forward to counsel 
and justify acts of pitiless barbarity. It does not 
appear that the idea of discussing their cause 
was ever thought of — already denounced as 
guilty, they were at once condemned as heretics; 
and all subsequent measures were directed en¬ 
tirely to the execution of the sentence. 

In the manners of the twelfth and thirteenth 
centuries there were certain peculiarities, calcu¬ 
lated to produce a striking effect in a narrative. 
Ignorance was so prevalent, that it was difficult 
to find a layman who could read and write : from 
that naturally resulted such a blind superstition; 
such a mixture of ferocity with chivalrous cour¬ 
tesy ; so many instances of perfidy, with here and 
there an example of the most complete devoted¬ 
ness and unshaken loyalty; so much barbarity 
between the combatants, and such dreadful cru¬ 
elty towards the vanquished — that it may be 
reasonably asserted that the annals of this time 
were written with blood. 



202 


Cri lit isms. 


Messrs. Barrau and Darragon, who must be 
named conjointly, as there is no clue for disco¬ 
vering what share of authorship belongs to either 
in this literary commandite —the authors, we ob¬ 
serve, have given some very animated descrip¬ 
tions of the scenes of violence and perfidy which 
disgrace this deplorable epoch. At the same time, 
it is incumbent on a reviewer to mention, that 
their narrative loses much of its merit by the in¬ 
troduction of some most apocryphal dialogues, in 
a style too closely resembling the idiom of the 
fifteenth century, to inspire the least confidence 
with an attentive and instructed reader. Indeed, 
throughout the work, there appears a continued 
effort to produce what may be termed a middle- 
age effect. The metrical legend of this crusade, 
recently published by M. Faui iel, may indeed be 
adduced to justify those conversations; but as the 
introduction of pure provenpal would have ren¬ 
dered the work less intelligible, the dignity of an 
historical style should have been respected, by 
relating their substance in modern French. And 

it is not merely in colloquies, but also in passages 

* 

where the authors express their own ideas, that 
(he reader meets with frequent instances of this 
injudicious preference for words and phrases no 


The Albigcnses. 293 

longer in use: Ic general clama—les soudards cla - 
merent—il enfourcha son cheval , etc., etc. In the 
latter instance, it would have been certainly more 
in keeping, to use the word destrier , as applied 
to a war-horse or charger, to distinguish it from 
the palfrey. 

The chief of the crusade, Simon Montfort, is 
described as a most intrepid general, irresistible 
on the field of hatlle, and fertile in expedient to 
preserve his followers from a reverse, or deliver 
them from a difficulty. His character appears 
altogether a parallel of the duke of Guise (the 
Balafre ), and the analogy of their principles ren¬ 
ders the comparison more striking— both aimed 
at deriving a personal advantage from fanatical 
excess. However, the glowing colours in which 
these events are related, are by no means suitable 
to the serious tone required for history : a pro¬ 
found investigation of facts, accompanied with 
reflections, and some reasonings free from pro¬ 
lixity, would have been more suitable than many 
portions of the narrative, which seem better 
adapted for a romance. 

The work is by no means destitute of historical 
scenes; the authors have inserted at length seve¬ 
ral documents of the greatest importance; and 





294 


Criticisms. 


every reader desirous of investigating these san¬ 
guinary annals may derive much useful aid from 
their pages, particularly in reference to correct 
dates and exact topography. It is, however, 
very much to be regretted, that the references 
are not more carefully made; for, excepting the 
notes which refer to Dom Vaissette and the 
Epistles of Innocent III, there is a negligence in 
describing the authorities, which almost destroys 
their utility. For instance, it frequently happens 
that a quotation refers, in the same line, to Pierre 
de Yaulx-Cernay and Langlois, as if they were 
contemporaries. The former is sometimes quoted 
by his name in Latin, sometimes in French, and 
not unfrequently by a designation of both lan¬ 
guages mixed. It is true he is so well known that 
this irregularity has no serious inconvenience: 
but the reader may fairly inquire, Who is Lan¬ 
glois? Once, at least, the title of his work should 
have been given at length. Langlois was, it ap¬ 
pears, a jesuit, who consequently could not have 
lived less than three centuries and a half later 
than the events under consideration ; and most 
probably a still longer distance intervened. Yet 
his opinions are estimated on the same scale as 
those of Yaulx-Cernay: they each obtain the same 


The Alhigenses. 295 

degree of credit, as if there had been no difference 
whatever existing between their means of in¬ 
formation. 

The utility of this work for theological studies 
forms the third head under which it is proposed 
to consider it. The authors describe energetically 
the implacable vengeance of the clergy on one 
hand; and on the other, they do justice to the 
invincible resolution of the Alhigenses, under 
which designation they comprise all the Langue- 
docian heretics of the time. According to Bos- 
suet, Fleury, and other ecclesiastical writers, 
there existed at that time a great variety of sects; 
and it would have been a desideratum to supply 
some notion of the diversities in their respective 
tenets. That question is only slightly touched 
upon; and after some general remarks on the 
confusion of creeds, it is stated that two sects had 
swallowed up the others; and that, in reality, 
there were only Manichaeans and Yaudois among 
the Alhigenses.—(Vol. i, p. 5.) 

The doctrines of the Manichaeans have been 
generally condemned, and it is a received opinion 
that they adored two divinities, or principles; 
but no proof has been advanced to support this 
charge, and an unprejudiced examination of the 



296 


Criticisms. 


successive sentences against these unfortunate 
creatures, allows room for supposing that their 
doctrine, the object of such violent reproba¬ 
tion, was really no more than a refined metaphy¬ 
sical view of St. Paul’s description of a change in 
our nature; or what is theologically termed re¬ 
generation, as mentioned in the second chapter 
of his epistle to the Ephesians: “In time past 
ye walked according to the course of this world, 
according to the prince of the power of the air , the 
spirit that now worketh in the children of dis¬ 
obedience.” Of one fact concerning the Mani- 
chaeans we are well assured—their preachers 
derived their doctrines from the Holy Scriptures, 
without any regard for the opinions encou¬ 
raged by the Romish church; and their filiation 
is very easily traced downwards from the Pauli- 
cians—a Manichaean sect thus designated, ac¬ 
cording to Petrus Siculus, from their professed 
desire to imitate the apostle Paul. The papacy, 
in consequence, held the Manichaeans in abhor¬ 
rence, for the same reason which, in our day, 
causes the Romish clergy to forbid the reading 
of the Bible. 

When persecution dispersed the Paulicians, 
as well as other branches of the Manichaean sect, 


The Albigenscs. 297 

some ol the fugitives took refuge in Hungary 
and Bohemia, until those retreats were assailed 
hy their enemies, when they fled to other coun¬ 
tries. A considerable diversity of discipline and 
ritual was the natural consequence of their disse¬ 
mination, being unprovided with the means of 
establishing or maintaining uniformity ; and 
every where they received a different appella¬ 
tion. Popish authors dwell very much on the 
varieties of opinion among them, which they 
contrast with the vaunted unity of their church; 
but the variations referred to points of minor 
importance, and their enemies have never ac¬ 
cused them of disputes among themselves—on 
the contrary, they are admitted to have main¬ 
tained a cordial feeling of co-operation, thus ex¬ 
pressed in the work before us : u Under this di¬ 
versity of denominations, there existed between 
the heresiarchs of all parts such a close connexion 
of reforming views, if not of religious belief, 
that notwithstanding the difference of their me¬ 
thod, all tended to the same object—liberty of 
thought and of action.”—(Vol. i, p. 41.) 

Pierre de Brueys and a monk named Henry 
were the two most prominent individuals at the 
commencement of this attempt to restore primi- 





298 


Criticisms. 


live religion. Respecting the latter, the authors 
express their astonishment at his acquiring a 
taste for heresy. u It cannot be ascertained 
how the Manichaean germ could reach his clois¬ 
tered abode, which might be deemed secure 
from all external influence. It is, however, cer¬ 
tain that Henry abandoned the monastic disci¬ 
pline and privations, to go about the world and 
publish his opinions.”—(P. 7.) 

This difficulty, which appears so great to the 
authors, is easily explained by those who, from 
early years, have been exhorted to investigate 
the grounds of their faith. The church of 
Rome contains, in its own liturgy, sufficient por¬ 
tions of Scripture to convince the monk Henry, 
that vain ceremonies were an insult to the Al¬ 
mighty. Bold and ardent, he had no sooner 
discovered the line of his duty, than he followed 
it with all the fervour of his character. The 
people, already fatigued and disgusted with the 
yoke of the clergy, gladly received his tenets, and 
his partisans were numerous when Pierre Yaldo 
commenced preaching. Of that individual we 
are told: 

“After distributing his fortune among the 
poor, this innovator, affected by their ignorance, 


The Albigenses. 299 

as well as their wretched condition, translated 
the Bible into the vulgar tongue, and undertook 
to explain it to them. At first he attacked only 
the profanity and debaucheries of the clergy, 
and the abuses of ecclesiastical power; but soon 
entering on a conflict with Catholicism, he re¬ 
jected the mass, confession, the sacraments, 
image worship, and promulgated a doctrine re¬ 
sembling that of Luther and Calvin. Then 
becoming indignant at the outrageous preten¬ 
sions of popery, this reformer attacked not only 
the doctrines, but the authority, and even the 
existence of the church, with the pretension to 
overturn the institution, diverted from its ori¬ 
ginal object, and to bring back the Rome of pope 
Hildebrand to the popular simplicity of early 
Christianity.”—(Vol. i, p. 9.) 

To this testimony of Messrs. Barrau and Dar- 
ragon, may be added that of another writer, 
M. Jules Ollivier, author of Essais liistoriques 
sur Valence. u Among these inoffensive here¬ 
tics were found theVaudois, also called Pauvrcs 
de Lyon . Their founder Pierre Valdus was a 
rich inhabitant of Lyons; his doctrine was pu- 
ritanism, conformable to the system of the Gnos¬ 
tics. He preached to his disciples a contempt 



300 


Criticisms. 


of earthly goods — he exalted poverty. The 
disciples held every thing in common, and their 
property was distributed in alms to the indi¬ 
gent. In that consisted their moral principle, 
quite practical it is true; and it is easy to judge 
how far it was dangerous. The austerity of 
their manners, and especially the harmony and 
charity which shone in their conduct, gained 
them numerous proselytes, who were spread into 
the Valentinois.”—(P. 95.) 

A condemnation of the new doctrines, by the 
council of Lombers in 1165, did not arrest their 
dissemination. Threats and arguments having 
produced no effect, the Romish clergy had re¬ 
course to more violent measures, the necessity of 
which was clearly indicated in a letter from the 
legate Castelnau to pope Innocent III, and which 
is inserted at the commencement of the work. 
Then commenced a series of persecutions and 
cruelties, which desolated Languedoc during 
thirty years. No period of equal duration was 
ever so crowded with incidents that strike the 
imagination and harrow the feelings; and those 
readers who seek for a glowing picture of the 
ferocious manners of the age, will not be disap¬ 
pointed in the accounts of this crusade. 


301 


The Albigenses. 

No selection will be made from among the 

numerous episodes contained in these volumes; 

' \ ^ 

not only such extracts would exceed the limits of 
this notice—they would he far from satisfying 
those whose taste is inclined for such reading. 
They are therefore referred to the work itself, 
which concludes with an account of the incor¬ 
poration of Languedoc with France. 

A treaty being concluded between Raymond 
VII, count of Toulouse, and Louis IX, king of 
France, the twelfth of April, 1229, was appoint¬ 
ed for its ratification, in front of the cathedral 
of Notre-Dame. The treaty is given at length, 
hut without any indication of the library in 
which the original, or even an authentic copy 
can be seen. The document was read aloud in 
the presence of the young monarch, surrounded 
by the prelates and dignitaries of the kingdom. 
An account of this ceremony will give some idea 
of the associated authors’ style. 

“ When the treaty was read, the count of 
Toulouse advanced upon a platform, where the 
Gospels were exposed to view; and placing his 
right hand on the Gothic manuscript, with the 
other on his breast, he pronounced with an op¬ 
pressed and beating heart: ‘In the presence of 


302 


Criticisms . 


all of you, barons and prelates, and of you, peo¬ 
ple of Paris, who hear me, I swear upon the 
Holy G ospels, to observe in all points the treaty 
which has been read.’ Then as there remained 
no obstacle to his absolution, so dearly pur¬ 
chased, Raymond was introduced, according to 
the contemporary Guillaume de Puylaurens, into 
the church of Notre-Dame, en chemise , en haul- 
de-chanssesj et pieds nus , and was conducted by 
the cardinal-legate, who beat him with rods 
until he reached the foot of the chief altar, 
where, causing him to kneel, the cardinal said: 
4 Count of Toulouse! by virtue of the powers 
conferred on me by the holy father, I absolve 
thee and thine from the excommunication which 
at various times has been pronounced against 
thee.’ 

44 4 Amen!’ murmured the unfortunate Ray¬ 
mond, who rose up a simple Catholic baron, in¬ 
stead of a powerful Alhigensian prince, as he 
was previously.’ 7 —(Vol. ii, pp. 404, 5.) 

By that treaty Raymond had bound himself to 
persecute heresy, and he assured the reversion 
of his dominions to the king of France, in case 
he died childless. The terrible effects of the 
former condition were speedily felt by the Albi- 


303 


The Albigenses. 

genses; with respect to (he second stipulation, 
their descendants had to groan for ages, under 
the yoke of bigotry, rigour, and severity, sanc¬ 
tioned by the court of France. Still nothing 
could overcome the attachment of the Langue- 
docians to their tenets: their profession of faith, 
and its attendant persecution, were renewed in 
consequence during each subsequent century. 
But there always remained some fragments of 
this unfortunate community, ready to rally round 
any preacher of the truth, who appeared among 
the fastnesses of their mountainous country; 
and at this time there still exist, not only fami¬ 
lies, hut even districts, wherein the profession of 
scriptural doctrines has continued, without in¬ 
terruption, ever since the time when they were 
first taught by Pierre Valdus. 


304 ) 


A WISH FOR POLAND. 

Jer.y c. xxxix, v. 17.—But I will deliver thee in that day, sailh 
tbe Lord : and thou shalt not be given into the hand of the men 
of whom thou art afraid. 


Not dead—but slumb’ring in a torpid state, 

Doth Poland Heaven’s supreme decree await. 

The King of Kings, who reigns enthroned above, 
Again, we trust, will manifest his love; 

And to the Polish exiles will apply 
The promise giv’n in Jewish prophecy— 

“ I will deliver theel” the Lord hath said, 

“ And save from men of whom thou art afraid.” 
He who raised Cyrus, Israel’s foes t’o’erthrow, 
Can bring the pride of haughty Russia low. 

Haste then the time, oh, Sovereign Lord of All! 
And Poland’s banished wanderers recall. 




( 305 ) 


TEENS AND TIES. 


Addressed to a daughter on her birth-dag. 


0 


Tis an era, the teens, which you enter this day, 
Serious thoughts should henceforth fill your mind; 
Twelve years of your childhood have now passed away, 
With less care than the future will find. 

For within a few years, when the teens are at end, 

The ties will arise to your view — 

Ties of love to your kin, of esteem for your friend ; 

Or some tie more serious for you. 

Yet if parents’ advice proper influence sways, 

In directing the ties you contract; 

Less sorrow and care will becloud your young days: 
Therefore think and consult ere you act. 

But one tie above all you must cherish with care— 

To the Saviour who died for our sins: 

For his love, in your bosom, the first place prepare— 
That love our true comfort begins. 


20 





( 30G ) 


CHORUS TO THE VIRGIN, 

Supposed to be sung by Monks, on learning the escape of the 
Duke de Mayenne, when the Guises were 
murdered at Blois, 1588. 


The zeal we profess no fear shall depress, 

Since Heav’n declares for our cause : 

Deign, Maria divine 1 on our efforts to shine— 

Tibi gloria , honor el laus. 

In his arrogant pride, did the tyrant decide 
Our rights to subdue to his glory ; 

But a cardinal’s death thousand swords will unsheath— 
Pro Virgine volumus mori. 

The popular voice will sanction our choice, 

Of a leader in character high; 

Whose honest design, and skill will combine— 

Jura nostra abunde tueri. 

Our lives we will stake, ev’ry sacrifice make, 

On behalf of this glorious cause : 

On thee we depend, blessed Mary, our friend! 

Sanctcv Virginia honor ct lavs l 



( 307 ) 


LINES 

Addressed to the author of u Paracelsus’ on hearing 
of the success of u Strafford.” 


While a French pencil Strafford’s fate displays, 

And De la Roche unfolds his final scene*, 

Admiring crowds proclaim the artist’s praise— 

Extol the episode which he portrays, 

And laud the noble victim’s graceful mien. 

Nor does the Gallic genius stand alone, 

In graphic effort to describe that age : 

A British pen in measured lines has shone— 

Through the sad days of Charles the First has gone, 
And shed an interest on faction’s rage. 

With joy we heard the praise your talent earned, 

When Paracelsus opened on our view; 

The germ of sterling genius was discerned— 

And by The Earl of Strafford we have learned, 

The augury was just—the judgment true. 

* May, 1837, at which time there were exhibited at the Louvre, 
two splendid pictures executed by that artist, for the duke of 
Sutherland and lord Francis Egerton. 





( 308 ) 


DOGGEREL EPISTLE 

To a Friend at Malta, formerly residing 

Bas-Meudon. 


’Twould please me much my life to alter, 
And I should like to visit Malta: 

And on that classic, rocky shore, 

See Dr. C * * * * and wife once more. 

There of Bas-Meudon we could chat, 

And on Montalet’s views dilate. 

In Maltese skiff, on waters blue, 

Talk o’er old river-scenes anew— 

O’er past adventures cast a glance, 
Compare the wines of Italy and France— 
And in a British colony, I think, 

Good English malt at Malta I might drink. 



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